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OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Circlerille IVatcbnian. 

" The sentiment that runs through the whole work, is elevating and 
instructive. There is a sweet spirit and depth of imagination in every 
sentence, that at once, places the authoress in the front rank of the first 
poets of the age." 



Ohio Statesman. 

"For the first time, we have seen this unpretending collection of 
poems, the production of one of Ohio's own daughters. They are chaste 
and natural in style. Many of the pieces abound in patriotic, and some 
in humorous sentiment." 



Kentucky Flag. 

" It is certainly a work of high merit, and one which should be liber- 
ally patronized by all." 



Democratic Union. 

" The gifted authoress is endowed with a clear perception of the real 
and the true. Many passages of the work evince a substantial apprecia- 
tion of the 'poets* art ;' and bear the unmistakable impress of a vigorous 
intellect." 



Cincinnati £uquirer. 

" That the book possesses high poetic merit we must allow, — this, by 
the way, is the concession of our judgment — ^not the mere mouth-praise 
of gallantry for the sex. Her style is simple, pure and sweet, tinged 
with a melancholy spirit, which is often rather a charm to poetry than 
a defect." 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

The Cincinnati Times. 

"We may add, that a mere hurried glimpse of two or three of its taste- 
fully printed pages, has impressed us favorably with the character and 
powers of the fair and fanciful authoress." 



The Cincinnati Atlas* 

" The poems are smoothly and pleasantly written, and display consi- 
derable skill." 



Cincinnati Commercial. 

" A softness, an ease, and a sweet simplicity pervades them, that will 
reach the unsullied heart and impart pleasure to the reader. 

" ' The Indian's Bride,' ' The Return,' ' The Parting,' ' The Contrast,' 
* A Legend of the South,' and other pieces denote a genuine appreciation 
of what belongs to the art divine." 



The Western Texian. 

" Mrs. Truesdell has recently published a book of Poems, the chaste- 
ness of style, the purity of composition, and elevated sentiment of which 
challenge our admiration, and establish the fame of the fair authoress." 



San Antonio Ijedger* 

" There is beauty and purity written upon every page, elevating and 
instructive to the mind of those who delight to drink from the pure 
streams of poetic fancy and sentiment." 



POEMS. 



BY 



^»f^' 



MKS. HELEN TKUESDELL. 



$UC 



LI: 



FIFTH EBITIONjT ^^ i,.==L^ ')*)>N 



OVTJKB 



\ 



.^> 



CINCIIS'NATI: 
PUBLISHED BY E. MORGAN 

NO, HI MAIN STREET. 

185G. 



CO., 







0^^"^ 



^%6^ 



Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 

MRS. HELEN TRUESDELL, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the State of Ohio, 



C. A. MORGAN & CO., 

STEREOTTPERS AND PUBUSHERS, 

HAMMOND STREET. 



1 



TO 



MARY L LOOFBOUROW, 



2:1) i 6 ll 1 n tit e 



IS DEDICATED, AS A TRIBUTE OF LOVE, 



BY HER SISTER, 



THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



}. Legend of the South, 

Scotland, ..... 

Lament for the late Nathaniel M'Lain, 

The Indian's Bride, . . . 

The Captive Queen, . . . . 

Apostrophe to the Mississippi, . . 

Reply to Byrona, .... 

Ode to Friendship, 

The Return, ..... 

A Tale without a Name, 

The Vow, 

The Rustic Maiden to her Lover, 

Stanzas sacred to the Memory of Samuel Millikan, 

The Sick Child's Lament, 

A Midnight Song, .... 

Lines written for an Album, 

Farewell, . . . 

The Triumphs of War, 

The Miseries of War, 

A Prayer for my Sister, 





PAGE. 


, . 


. 13 


• 


24 


. . 


. 28 


• 


32 


t • 


. 37 


. 


41 


. 


. 45 


• 


48 


• • 


. 49 


. 


52 


. 


. 56 




58 


CAN, 


. 62 


. 


64 


, 


. 69 


, 


71 


, , 


. 73 




76 


, . 


. 78 


^ 


80 



(ix) 



CONTENTS. 



The Parting, ....... 

The Consumptive, ..... 

Josephine's Remonstrance, ..... 

Thou canst not forget Me, 

Elegiac Lines on the Death of J. J. Stewart, . 

To a Neglected Artist, .... 

I "WAS not always sorrowful, .... 

Lines addressed to my Sister at School, . . 

Musings, ....... 

The Gift, ....... 

Song of the Mountain Maid, .... 

The Contrast, ...... 

Lines to a Bird, ...... 

The Skeptic's Last N'ight, .... 

Georgiana, ....... 

Ida, ....... 

The Irish Exile's Address to America, . . . 

The Young Wife's Song, .... 

Presentiments, ...... 

Annie Adair, ...... 

Lines on being shown a Tress of Hair, . 

Lines accompanying a Bouquet of Lilies and Roses, 

The Captive Warrior's Lament, .... 

The Neglected Wife, ..... 

The Missionaries, ...... 

I will hope, ...... 

I SHALL think OF ThEE, ..... 

Welcome to Kossuth, ..... 
Bird of the Summer, ..... 

Stanzas to 

An Appeal to Queen Victoria in behalf of the Irish, 
Lines addressed to a Stranger whom I met on the Cars, 



iif 



PAGE. 

83 

86 
96 
)3 
94 
97 
100 
103 
106 
109 
110 
112 
115 
117 
121 
123 
125 
128 
130 
131 
133 
136 
138 
140 
142 
150 
152 
154 
157 
159 
1G2 
1G5 



CONTENTS. 



XI 







PAOE. 


To A Coquette, .... 


. 


163 


Lines on the Death of Mrs. E. Beowx, ; 




. 170 


An Invocation, .... 




172 


Awake, awake, my gentle Muse, , 


. 


. 174 


Withered Violets, 




175 


Religion, ..... 




. 178 


Hallowed Ground, . . . 




180 


A "Wish, ..... 




. 182 


Stanzas, ..... 




183 


To MY Little Niece, . . . 




. 186 


Apostrophe to my Husband, 




188 


Love, ...... 


. • 


. 190 


To A Friend, .... 




192 


Little Willie, .... 


. 


. 194 


Country Life, .... 




196 


I loved Him, ..... 




. 198 


The Lonely Grave, 




200 


Lines on receiving a Number of the Repository, 


. 202 


Autumn Flowers, . . . . 


. . 


204 


Remorse, ..... 


. « 


. 205 


Home, ... . . 


. • 


207 


Edith to Morton, .... 


■• 


. 209 


I 'm with You, dear Sisters, 


• • 


211 



POEMS. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

PART FIRST. 

'TwAs eve, sweet eve ; a southern sky 
Had flung its thousand lights on high, 
And many a fair and lovely scene 
Silvered beneath the moon's pale beam; 
While, stretching southward far away, 
Lake Pontchartrain in beauty lay, 
'Mid scenes so fair, when on her strand 
You'd almost deem it fairy land; 
And just beside, a noble wood, 
Draped in the moonlight, proudly stood. 
Where Pan, the god of sylvan shades. 
Held revels 'mid these woodland glades. 
The broad magnolia's leaves unfold 
Beside the aster's flowers of gold; 
2 13 



14 A LEGEND OFTHE SOUTH. 

The columbine and lupine wi-eathed 
Garlands, which fragrance only breathed; 
And birds of every hue and wing, 
Gayly amid the flowerets sing. 
No dreary winter visits here, 
But spring, sweet spring-time, all the year. 
And now my strain is sung to thee, 
I'll tell a tale as told to me : — 

'Tis said, amid those lovely wilds 

A lonely hermit dwells. 
Apart from man, and shunning all, 

To none his tale he tells. 

'Tis told by those who near him live, 

That many years before. 
He came from Italy's fair clime. 

And sought our Western shore. 

Cleft in the hollow of a rock. 

His lonely home is made; 
The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round, 

And form a vernal shade. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 15 

At early morn he seeks for game, 

For well he loves the chase, 
The red deer trembles when he sees 

The time-worn hermit's face. 

And oft he climbs the loftiest steeps, 

Where soaring eagles feed, 
To gaze upon a stormy sky, 

As if he sought to read 

The destiny of one so strange. 

Self-exiled from his home — 
An alien from his own sweet land. 

Amid our shades to roam. 

A poet and an artist, he 

Dwelt 'neath his native sky; 
Amid those glorious works of art 

Too beautiful to die. 

Fame and ambition made for him 

A halo round his brow ; 
Alas, for all those lovely dreams ! 

"Where have they flown to, now? 
2 



16 A L E G E N D OF THE SOUTH. 

He loved — it is a simple tale, 
And one that 's often told ; 

For she he loved was beautiful, 
And rich in lands and gold. 

The daughter of a lordly house, 

A Baron's only pride — 
For vv^hose fair hand the proudest peers 

Of many a realm had sighed. 

'Twas in his studio first they met: 
Her friends had brought her there, 

To see if art could picture forth 
A sculptured form so fair. 

With trembling hand and heart of fire. 
He sought her form to trace ; 

But ah, despair was on his brow. 
For who could give that face ? — 

The heavenly beauty of the mind. 
The spirit's sparkling light, 

The eye whose gentle radiance shone, 
Soft as the stars of night. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. It 

Enshrined within his heart of hearts 

Each look of hers now lay — 
A breath of summer o'er his soul, 

Too soon to pass away. 



PART SECOND. 



'Tis night, a night in Italy: 
How to the mind it brings 

Bright visions of that lovely land's 
All high and glorious things ! 

'Neath a myrtle and an orange grove, 
On a bed of violets sweet, 

Sat this gentle high-born maiden, 
With the artist at her feet. 

The sunlight from the mountains 

Had faded quite away, 
And the misty shades of evening 

"Were gathering thick and gray. 



18 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

When from her father's castle 
That maiden fair was seen 

To glide, with noiseless footsteps, 
Along the shadowy green. 

Is this the Baron's daughter, 

The peerless Isabel, 
Who wanders in the moonlight 

Alone by lake and fell? 

Her lover's watching for her, 
He's waited for her long, 

With a heart of burning eloquence, 
And lips and tone of song. 

And oh! what wondrous tenderness 
Is falling from his tongue, 

And with what fond and earnest faith 
Unto his words she clune;. 



'to" 



"Love me ever," said the maiden, 
And her voice was soft and low. 

Like the sighing of the south winds 
Amid the myrtle's bough. 



A LEGEND OF TUB SOUTH. 19 



PART THIRD. 

Grim and silent, in the moonlight, 

An ancient chapel stood, 
Where dwelt a priestly anchorite — 

The humble and the good. 

With swift and quiet footsteps 
The lovers bent their way, 

Ah ! toward this ruined chapel, 
Guided by the moon's soft ray. 

They have passed the lonely threshold^ 

The holy man is there, 
Before him is a crucifix, 

Beside, a book of prayer. 

There 's a deadly pallor resting 

Upon the maiden's brow. 
As they kneel with pious fervor, 

To take the solemn vow 



20 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

That binds them to each other. 

The words were scarcely said, 
When through the vaulted chapel 

Rang a voice as from the dead — 

"Forbear, forbear, my children!" 
All turned in wild alarm, 

And, lo ! beside the doorway 
Stood a proud and noble form. 

The face was deeply shaded. 
But amid the gathering gloom, 

The maiden knew her father. 
By the weaving of his plume. 

"Forbear!" again he uttered, 

And his voice was stern and deep, 

" Let thy words be all unspoken. 
That vow thou must not keep. 

"Ye are both, O God! my children. 
The same by birth and name — 

Thine, thine will be the anguish. 
But mine has been the shame." 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 21 

Then he told how he had wandered 

To a distant land away, 
To a fair and smiling valley, 

Called the Yalley of Glenstray; 

Where he wooed an humble maiden, 

And won her for his bride ; 
Fearing his father's anger, 

But more his mother's pride, 

He had wedded her in secret; 

They had never told the tale. 
Though his gentle bride grew sorrowful 

While her brow grew sad and pale. 

The beautiful and timid girl 

Drooped daily by his side. 
Yet still he would not claim her 

As his own, his wedded bride. 

But the Friend unto the wretched 

Came swiftly to her aid, 
And soon all quietly she slept 

Within the church-yard's shade. 



2% A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

But ere she died, she'd given 

Unto his arms a son — 
"Thou, thou," exclaimed the father, 

"Art that wronged, forsaken one!" 

Pale, pale as death, the maiden 
Sank fainting to the floor. 

While with wild and speechless agony 
Her brother bent him o'er. 

That face of matchless beauty, 
That fair and fragile form. 

Lay like a blighted lily 

Smitten by a sudden storm. 

Oh. who can tell the agony 
That filled that brother's breast, 

As on his sister's snowy brow 
One holy kiss he prest! 

Then turned away all sorrowful, 

All sorrowful and lone. 
Bound to a far-off distant land, 

Forever from his own. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 23 

And soon within a noble ship, 

Upon a bounding sea, 
He came unto our own fair land, 

The beautiful, the free! 

And here upon our Southern shore, 

Where breezes softly play, 
'Mid orange bowers almost as fair 

As those of Italy, 

Cleft in the hollow of a rock. 

His lonely home is made ; 

The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round, 
And form a vernal shade. 



SCOTLAND. 



Land of the mountain and the dale! 

Thou land of deathless fame ! 
I proudly write on this fair page 

Thy ever-during name. 

I fling my banner to the breeze, 

I loudly call on thee 
To aid me by my power of song, 

Bright land of minstrelsy! 

Ye sons of genius, who would seek 

A shrine whereon to lay 
The purest offering of your heart, 

'Tis Scotland points the way. 



SCOTLAND. 25 

Not to the wealthy or the great, 

Doth intellect belong, — 
The poet in his low thatched cot 

Can pour his soul in scmg. 

And while I for a model seek, 

Mine eye instinctive turns, 
And fondly wreathed around my heart, 

I find the name of Burns. 

Who does not love the author well, 

Of that enchanting tune, 
Which sweetly steals across the heart — 

The "Braes o' Bonnie Doon2" 

I loved it in my happier hours; 

I love it better now; 
Since I, like that lone one, have learned 

To mourn a broken vow. 

And should my fancy seek to rove 

'Mid scenes of beauty wild, 
I'd turn to thee, thou gifted Scot I 

Fair Scotia's darling child I 



26 SCOTLAND. 

Should warriors, too, engross my pen, 
And claim from me their due, 

I'd twine a wreath for gallant Bruce, 
And one for Wallace too. 

Sure, bolder chieftains never trod, 
E'en on our own loved shore. 

Than they, with belt and tartan plaid, 
Their Highland heather o'er. 

Statesmen! the mighty Mansfield standa 

A pattern for you all; 
A nobler voice was never heard 

In council or in hall. 

Divines ! you too may emulate 

The Covenanter's zeal ; 
Who seeks, by penitence and tears, 

His every sin to heal. 

Behold in burrows of the earth. 
With fasting and with care. 

The persecuted Christian kneels. 
And lifts his soul in prayer. 



SCOTLAND. . 27 



In this religion has he lived, — 

His purposes are high, — 
And like his gentle, captive Queen, 
For it h 'ed even die. 



LAMENT 

POE THE LATE NATHANIEL M'LAIN. 

INSCRIBED TO HIS SISTER, MRS. MILTON M. HALE, 



" That soldier liad stood on the hattle-plain, 

Where every step was over the slain ; 
But the brand and the ball had passed him by, 

And he came to his native land — to die." — l. e. l. 



My brother ! O my brother ! 

My soul is sad to-night: 
I'm thinking of the fatal news — 

The dark and withering blight — 
That fell upon my spirit, 

"When on lightning wings it sped, 
And told me thou, beloved one, 

Wert sleeping with the dead. 

When rang the deadly clarion 

Beneath a southern sky, 
'"hou, thou wert there, my brother. 

To dare, to do, or die; 



LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL m'lAIN. 29 

Yea, ever 'mid the thickest fight — 

The bravest of the brave — 
"Willing to share a soldier's fate, 

Or fill a soldier's grave. 

But thou wert spared amid it all, 

To see thy home once more ; 
Yea, borne on Neptune's friendly waves, 

Didst reach thy native shore : 
And loving friends, and tender ones. 

Came forth thy steps to greet, — 
Oh, it was joy, the dearest joy, 

Those early friends to meet! 

Our gray-haired sire beside thee stood. 

While pride thrilled through his breast. 
Murmured thy name in tender tones — 

And, brother, thou wert blest: 
Our mother, too, oh ! who can tell 

The deep unselfish love 
That thrilled each fiber of her soul. 

As angels thrill above! 



30 LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL m'lAIN. 

But not for me, oh ! not for me, 

To look upon thy face, — 
Only the mournful task is mine, 

This record sad to trace: 
For now, O brother of my soul ! 

From earth thou 'st passed away, 
And that warm, generous heart of thine, 

Lies 'neath the cold, cold clay. 

In sable garb, with saddened step. 

And sadly-waving plume, 
They laid thee with thy young renown, 

Low in the silent tomb ; 
With laurels fresh upon thy brow. 

They laid thee down to rest 
"Within thine own dear native land — . 

Fair Valley of the West ! 

Our father's joy is turned to grief; 

Our mother's hopes have fled ; 
The visions that we cherished, all 

Like withered leaves lie dead : 



LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL m'lAIN. 31 

And she, the chosen of thy heart, 

The tender and the true, 
Has gazed her last upon thy face. 

And wept her last adieu. 

Yet vain our sorrows, vain our tears ; 

Though never vain the spell 
That lingers round a sister's heart. 

When she has said farewell 
To one, who e'en from childhood's hour 

Has grown up by her side, 
From all its witching tenderness, 

To manhood's joyous pride. 

Then bid me not to dry my tears. 

Nor bid me cease to mourn, — 
The deep, deep love that stirs my soul, 

With life's first breath was born. 
Brother! the memory of thy worth 

Shall live within my breast. 
And point me to that sacred home, 

Where thou hast found a rest. 



[I remember, when a child, reading an account of an Indisn Chief, 
who went from America to England, and married the fair daughter 
of an English house. She is represented as approaching the altar 
with the greatest enthusiasm.] 



THE INDIAN'S BEIDE. 

" Holy and pure are the drops that fall. 
When the young bride goes from her father's hall : 
She goes unto love yet untried and new — 
She parts from love which hath still been true." 

Mbs. Hemans. 

" Oh ! bind the bridal veil," she said, 

" Sweet sister, on my brow, 
And let me to the altar go. 

To take the sweetest vow 

" That ever passed from woman's lips. 
Or thrilled through woman's breast; — 

Without it, love is but a dream, 
And life is all unblest." 



THE Indian's BRIDE. 33 

Gently the bridal veil was bound 

Amid those tresses fair, 
"Which hung, like rays of golden light, 

So beautiful they were. 

Around the maiden's sylph-like form, — 

So full of perfect grace, 
You'd rarely see so fair a form. 

With such a lovely face. 

The high, fair brow, the loving lips. 

The sad, yet tender eyes, 
Whose color only could be matched 

By heaven's own azure dyes. 

And then the small fair hands were clasped ; 

The maiden knelt in prayer ; 
And her sweet voice went floating out 

Like music on the air. 

But strange the contrast! — he who stood 

To claim her for his bride, 
A dark-browed Indian Chief was he, 

The forest's fear and pride. 
3 



34 THE Indian's bride. 

What wild emotion moved his heart? 

Say, should we call it love, 
That brought the eagle from on high 

To mate him with the dove ? 

Was there no maiden of his tribe, 
No dark-eyed, dusky one. 

Who dwelt within his native wilds 
On toward the setting sun, 

Could bear his burden by his side? — 
With him the hills could roam ? — 

And dress for him the mountain deer, 
And tend his forest home? 

But must he woo this lovely flower 
From Albion's distant shore. 

To wither 'neath a foreign sky. 
And pine in sorrow sore ? 

What will she, with her costly gems. 
That she has worn with pride ? 

The feather and the shell were best 
To deck the Ked Man's bride. 



theindian's bkide. 35 

What will she, for her happy home, 

Where peace and plenty smile ? 
Oh, cruel was the heart, methinks, 

That could her steps beguile ! 

And when the wild romance is past — 

The foolish dream is o'er — 
Will she not think upon the home 

Which she shall see no more ? 

Will not her mother's voice, at eve, 

Steal 'mid those woods so dim. 
Borne on the fragrance of the breeze, 

Soft as a vesper hymn ? 

Her sister's, too, — the gentle girl, 

Who bound the flowerets fair. 
While tear-drops fell, like glittering pearls, 

Amid her golden hair ? 

And her fond father, — he who strove, 

In tones of choking woe. 
To bless his darling ere he bade — 

Ah, sadly bade — her go, 



S6 



THE INDIAN S BRIDE. 



To cheer the Indian's wigwam rude, 
Far o'er the shadowy main, 

Leaving behind fond precious hopes 
She ne'er can know again. 



THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 

" I was tlie Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly rose I in the morn, 

As blithe lay down at e'en : 
And I 'm the Sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there, 
Yet here I lie, in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care." — Bukns. 

She sat alone — yes, all alone — within that gloomy tower, 
For she, though young and beautiful, had felt oppres- 
sion's power ; 
She had each lovely attribute that ladies ever prize. 
The sylph-like form, the fairy step, the bright and starry 
eyes. 

And ne'er a loftier intellect had fallen to woman's lot ; 
A fame, that malice tried in vain on which to fix a blot. 
The sun threw out its gorgeous rays o'er mount, and 

vale, and hill. 
And seemed the very earth and air with joyousness 

to fill. 



38 THECAl'TIVEQUEEN. 

But though it shed its genial rays, no joy could it impart, 

To soothe the agony and care that weighed the Cap- 
tive's heart; 

She gazed upon the glorious scene through bitter, 
blinding tears, 

And hurriedly her mind went back to earlier, happier 
years. 

But where were now those hapjpy hours, the step and 

spirit free ? — 
The thousand warriors, who had deemed it pride to 

bend the knee 
To one so good and beautiful, the Dauphin's gentle bride, 
Heir of fair Scotia's royal crown, and France a dower 

beside ? 

Where were ye, lords of Scotland, all, and gentlemen 

of France ? 
Why came ye not, with valorous hearts, to break for 

her a lance ? 
And where were ye, ye courtly dames, in proud and 

rich array. 
Who dwelt within your Sovereign's court, and owned 

her gentle sway ? 



THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. Z9 

And MuKRAY, thou of princely blood, near to the royal 

line, 
Hadst thou no offering to lay upon thy sister's shrine ? 
Did no avenging spirit wake within thy haughty breast? 
Or didst thou coldly fold thine arms, as faithless as 

the rest ? 

No answer ! — let thy silence tell thy perjury and shame! 
Ambition lured thee, but thou ne'er didst wear a wreath 

of fame ; — 
Ambition lured thee on to dwell amid thy sister's foes, 
Forgetful of her kindred ties, forgetful of her woes ; 

Forgetful of her tender care, her too confiding love, 
A sovereign's wrongs, a sister's tears, could not thy 

pity move. 
But by a woman thou wert made, in after years, to feel, — 
For 't was her hand which armed with death the dread 

assassin's steel. 

Thou, who so recklessly upon another's rights hadst 

trod, 
Saw thine own name go down in death, in darkness, 
and in blood ! 
4 . 



40 THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 

But, Mary, in thy darkest hour some happiness was 

thine ; 
For thou didst lay thy trusting heart upon a holy 

shrine. 

For though thine was an erring faith, 'twas beautiful to 

see 
Thy steadfast love, thy earnest zeal, thy tender constancy; 
All Europe looked with pitying eyes upon thy closing 

fate, 
And mourned for Scotland's Royal Flower — the lone, 

the desolate I 



APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 

INSCRIBED TO MES. H. TKUESDELL. 

" To a kindred spirit these lines belong— 
A daughter of Genius, a child of Song." 

Byron A. 

As on thy waters now I gaze, 

Another by my side 
Follows, with sad and teai»ful eye, 

Thy dark and turbid tide. 

A widowed heart it is that bends 

In grief beside me here, — 
A heart bereft, in early youth, 

Of all it held most dear. 



42 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 

And thou, engulfing waters, thou 
Didst rob this sorrowing one — 

Didst snatch the idol from its shrine, 
And leave the heart alone. 

Scarce had the bridal flowers grown pale, 
"Which loving hands had wreathed, — 

Scarce had the husband's tender vows 
In happiness been breathed, — 

Ere from the altar he had reared, 
That shrine of love— a home. 

The guardian of that temple dear 
By cruel fate was torn. 

He trusted to thy treacherous waves, 
Thou dark, uncertain stream ; 

But of the fearful doom thou'dst planned, 
How little did he dream ! 

'Twas sounding still upon his ear — 

Love's fond and last adieu ; 
And, as each wave still bore him on, 

The absent dearer grew. 



APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 4:S 

He gazed on thee, and thought, perchance, 

Of bliss till now unknown ; 
When thy relentless billows part, 

And claim him for thine own. 

The bridal wreath so fondly worn, 

"Was withered in an hour, — 
Crushed by a fearful weight of woe, 

There lay a tender flower. 

The fragrance of that opening flower, 

Was given to the morn. 
And ere the evening sun was low. 

Its sweet perfume was gone. 

The mournful cypress now replaced 

The lovely orange wreath ; 
And sable robes were gathered close 

This emblem sad beneath. 

An emblem fit it was to wear, — 

For truthfully it spoke; 
A loving nature has been crushed — 

A gentle spirit broke. 



44 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI 

Sorrowing stranger! mingling tears 
Are flowing fast with thine: 

Would they conld thy spirit heal — 
These heart-felt tears of mine ! 

Byrona. 



REPLY TO BYRONA. 

How shall I thank thee? not with words ;- 
These burning tears can speak, — 

This bitter agony of heart, — 
This blanching of the cheek. 

For thou hast touched a mournful chord, 

That vibrates every hour, 
With all a poet's gentle skill, — 

A woman's gentle power. 

Thou'st brought me back to other days, — 

The tender and the good. 
Who's sleeping in his silent home, 

'Midst woodland solitude. 



46 K E P I. Y T O B Y R N A . 

But not more lonely is the grave 

Of him for whom I pine, 
Than are these faded hopes which still 

Round early memories twine. 

Ten years ! ten long and weary years. 

Passed like a scroll away, 
Since last I stood upon that spot. 

Upon that fatal day. 

I'm gazing on a manly form, 

And on a manly face. 
And clasped, with all a husband's love, 

In one long, fond embrace. 

And words of tenderness are breathed — 

Of happiness and home. 
And promises that ne'er again, 

From that dear ark he'd roam. 

Ah, well didst thou define each thought, 
That dwelt in that fond breast! 

For when apart from those he loved. 
His spirit found no rest. 



REPLY TO BYRONA. 47 

But back again he would have come, 

To quiet every fear, 
And with his tender, loving tones, 

His household band to cheer. 

But though we looked with anxious hearts, 

And tearful eyes, 'twas vain; 
Kelentless death had severed us, — 

We never met again. 

Now thanks, kind stranger, for each word, 
Each thought, that thou hast penned, 

And thanks for all thy sympathy. 
My loved and gifted friend. 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 

" rriendsMp above all ties doth bind tbe heart ; 
And faith in friendship is the noblest part." 

Earl op Orrery— IZenry the Fifth, 

Let those who scoff at Friendship's name, 
For others ne'er profess a flame 
Which they can never feel. 

Sure friendship's near akin to love; 
'Tis cherished by the saints above, 
And recognized in heaven. 

Oh, I ha\e felt its gentle power; 
It soothed me in the bitterest hour 
Of anguish and of strife. 

When worn with sorrow and with care, 
I 'vc turned and found a solace there, 
Naught else on earth could give. 



THE RETURN. 

" I looked again— the wanderer had returned.** 

Btbon. 

Boom for the loved one! room once morel- 
He has come again to his native shore; 

He has come at last from the bounding sea, 
With a spirit light, with a spirit free: 

There 's a thrill in his heart, of rapture wild, 
Like the gushing tones of a joyous child. 



He is pausing now by the hawthorn shade, 
The favorite haunt where his childhood played; 

Where he used to stand, with a glistening eye, "^ 
And list to the sea's wild lullaby: 

For even there, by that shelly strand. 
Did he dream of a far-oflf stranger land. 



fiO T fl E R E T U R N . 

Oh ! that stranger land had charms for him, 
As he seemed to look through the future dim; 

The gentle breath of a classic land 

Seemed to fan his cheek with its breezes bland, 

And on Fancy's wings he was bounding free, 
A mariner o'er an "untroubled sea." 



That time is passed, that dream proved true; 

He has plowed old Neptune's waters blue; 
He has looked on Venice, the proud, the free. 

Where she sits in her glory, fair " Bride of the Sea," 
And traversed the shores of sunny France, 

Bright land of beauty and romance !-— 



And paused, where the moonlight softly lay 
On the ancient walls of the Alhambra, — 

Where the last, last sigh of the sad Moor stole 
Like a knell of death to a parting soul : 

But that time has passed, he has ceased to roam, 
And come at last to his native home. 



THE RETURN. 61 

And ne'er has he looked on a fairer sight, 
Than his father's house in the softened light ; 

And the lowly cottage, just beside, — 
The humble home of his plighted bride. 

Where she's kept her faith for many years, 

And looked for his coming through dimming tears. 



A TALE. WITHOUT A NAME. 



" Marriage is a matter of more worth, 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship." 

Shakspeare— flenry 17. 



Moen's earliest rays had tinged the tree-tops 
With their golden hue ; when a fond mother 
Sought the couch whereon her child reposed. 
"Awake, my Alice! awake!" she cried, 
"To happiness: it is thy bridal morn! 
The sun comes out with gorgeous splendor, 
As though it sought to make more glad this happy day. 
Dost mark how proudly even now its crimson 
Glories rest on yonder hillock fair, where 
Stands thy future home? When eve shall come, thou 
Wilt be mistress of the proudest mansion 



A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 53 

In this proud city — the envy of the 

London world. Slaves at thy bidding then will 

Come ; broad lands and manors fair be thine ; and 

More than this, the deep, abiding love of 

One, whom many sought, but sought in vain, 

To win. Dost hear me not, my daughter ?" 

Gently 
The maiden started from her sleep, with such 
A look of radiant happiness upon 
Her face, the mother's conscience ceased a 
Moment to reproach. But, ah ! 't was but 
A transient gleam — the meteor's ray. "With 
Her soft hand she put aside the curls that 
Clustered round her brow of snowy whiteness, 
And in a tone of deep and touching sadness 
Said — "Why didst thou wake me, mother? 
I in dreams had wandered far away, to my 
Sweet childhood's home. I stood beside the fount, 
Whose limpid waters gushed and bubbled 
At my feet ; and by my side was Herbert Gray, 
My childhood's playmate — the dear companion 
Of my later youth ; and hand in hand we 



54 A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 

Koved togetlier 'mid the sweets that scent 

My native vale : and he did gaze so fondly 

In my face, and clasp my hand so tenderly 

In his, I feel the pressure of it yet. 

But, ah ! 't was but a dream !" And tears, those 

Swift, unbidden messengers of grief, dimmed 

Her soft pleading eyes. 

The mother's brow grew dark. 
"What! tears upon thy bridal morn? they ill 
Become thee: thou shouldst be a woman now, and 
Lay aside all childish things." "Oh! chide me 
Not, my mother ; but let me still weep on : 
To-morrow, though my heart should break, I must 
Not shed a tear." 

Morn on her rosy wings went by; 
The noon's hot, scorching rays had sunk into 
The quiet shades of eve, w^hen the bride-maidens 
Sought the gentle bride. But when they came unto 
Her room, they marveled much to find she 
Was not there: they sought, but sought in vain; they 
Called, but Echo only answered back 



A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 55 

The call. The father's brow grew dark with grief; 
The mother wept aloud; and the stern bridegroom 
Muttered something of woman's faithlessness, — 
When, lo I a note was brought. 'T was signed by 
Herbert Gray ; and read — "We two have grown together, 
With such fond and earnest faith, — have loved each other 

With such holy love, to sunder us is death " 

And when he spoke of Alice, his sweet bride, 

He said — "The primrose better loves the shade, 

The violet seeks a sheltered dell. 

And there unfolds its sweets." One trembling line 

Was writ by Alice' hand : and when the parents 

Read it, ambition died within their hearts, 

And they acknowledged there, before their guests, 

Limits to parental law; for though a parent 

May restrain his child, he must not barter 

Her for gold. 



i, . 



THE VOW. 

I PLEDGE me not to love another, — 

I bind me by a vow 
To love, in clear and cloudy weather, 

None other one but thou. 

Though others tell me that I'm fair. 

And whisper in mine ear 
That I have all endowments rare. 

Still, still I will not hear. 

Then cast away thy jealous fears, 

And list to what I say — 
My heart thy kindness always cheers. 

Then smile on me, I pray. 



T H E V O W . 57 

Thou foolish one! thou canst not know 

How fondly thou art loved, 
Or thou wouldst never doubt me so, 

When faithful I have proved. 

Say, wouldst thou never have me smile 

But when I smile on thee? 
Nor seek thy absence to beguile, 

When friends are kind to me ? 

Wouldst have me coldly turn away, 
And slight those friends so true? 

Nor ever have a single thought. 
But what I give to you ? 

Then be it so! I'll love thee still, 

With more than woman's love ; 
Though all unkind must be thy will, 

By tenderness I'll prove 

That thou art all in all to me,— 

The dearest and the best, — 
I only wish thy smiles to see. 

And I am more than blest. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER 



" Our love it ne'er was reckoned, 
Yet good it is, and true ; 
I 'ts half tlie world to me, dear, 
It 's all the world to you." — Hood. 



I HAVE loved thee with a love 
That can know no change ; 

And with thee, through distant lands, 
Oft in fancy range. 

I have pictured to myself 
A lone, but lovely spot, — 

With honeysuckle twined around, 
A neat and simple cot. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HEK LOVEK. 59 

Far away from noise and strife, 

Ambition, pomp, and pride. 
Happily would our days pass on, 

Sweet the moments glide. 

I my household work would do. 

Watch thy home with care, 
And make thine every sorrow light 

By sympathy and prayer. 

And when at eve thy work was done, 

I'd sit and sing to thee 
Songs of our own loved mountain home, 

Far o'er the deep blue sea. 

Or else, perchance, I'd mind thee of 

The talks we'd had together. 
And many little pleasant walks. 

In pleasant summer weather. 

With friends who then were far away. 

That we had left behind. 
But whose loved images still dwelt 

Imprinted on each mind. 



60 THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER 

Oh! who would ask a happier lot? 

I would not change it now 
For all the bright and glittering gems 

That deck a monarch's brow. 

For well the great Philosopher 

Of poets truly said, 
A "golden sorrow" is their lot, 

Encircled round their head. 

You think that I must weep, to leave 
The home I love so well ; — 

The deep devotion of her heart, 
A maiden may not tell. 

Long as the object of her love 

Is worthy in her eyes, 
She never dreams that she can make 

Too great a sacrifice. 

And when unto the Western wilds 

I go, thy home to bless. 
Thou then perhaps will learn the depth 

Of woman^s tenderness. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. 61 

But I have written quite enough, 

For thy fond eyes to see 
The weakness of thine Amy's heart, — 

So now good night to thee I 



STANZAS 

SACKED TO THE MEMOEY OF SAMUEL MILLIKAN, 

WHO DIED IN CALIFOENIA, NOVEMBER 25tH, 1851. 

In the far-off land of the stranger's home, 
Where the south winds fan the breath, 

Amid lovely flowers, and "golden dreams," 
They laid him down in death. 

A lone tree marks the sacred spot, 

Where he sleeps in his dreamless sleep, 

And the moaning winds with a pitying sound, 
Their nightly vigils keep; 

And beauteous birds with their silvery wings. 

Will nestle upon that tree; 
And spring's sweet violets deck the grave 

Which his loved ones ne'er can see; 



STANZAS. 63 

And oft will the stranger's careless foot 

Pass the lone and sad spot by, 
Nor think of one who came so far 

From his native land — to die ! 

Oh, sad was the day and fatal the hour, 

"When his spirit sighed to roam; 
When he turned from the dear and sacred joys, 

That clustered around his home! 



THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. 

" Oh ! mother, I am soiTOwful ; 

There's sadness in my heart; 
I know not why it is, and yet 

All day the tears will start. 

'^They tell me of a better land; — 

O mother, is it so, 
That they who reach those radiant shores, 

No pain or sickness know? 

"And, mother, in my sleep, last night, 

There o'er my spirit fell 
A strange sweet dream, I scarce know why. 

But fain to thee would tell." 



THE SICK child's LAMENT. 65 

"I thought that, robed in spotless white, — 

A crown upon my head, — 
Surrounded by a fairy band 

Of children, — I was led 

"By a tall figure, clothed in black — 

A scepter in his hand, 
And every one to whom he spoke 

Sprang forth at his command. 

"lie led us on through darksome scenes, 

And damp unwholesome air ; 
And then there burst upon my sight, 

A scene so heavenly fair — 

"A city, all of purest gold, 

Set round with radiant gems. 
And, every place I looked, I saw 

Ten thousand diadems; 

"And countless numbers tuned their harps, 

In strains of music sweet-; 
And angels, bearing golden lyres. 

Came forth our steps to greet. 



66 THE SICK child's LAMENT. 

'^They led us to a lofty throne, 

Of ivory and gold : — 
But, ah ! the beauty of that place 

Must 'still be all untold ; 

"For could my childish lips assume 

An angel's heavenly tone, 
Fruitless and vain my words would prove, 

And useless be the loan. 

" Then wonder not I 'm sorrowful, 

And have been so all day ; 
For though I love my own dear home, 

I fain would always stay 

"Amid those scenes so beautiful, 

So gladdening to the eye : 
But, ere I reach that lofty home, 

Dear mother, I must die." 

The mother's cheek grew deadly pale, 
Her eyes were filled with tears, 

She placed her hand upon her hearty 
As stifling all her fears; 



THE SICK child's LAMENT. 67 

But when she spoke, her words were calm 

As an unruffled stream, 
And gentle, tender, pure and kind 

As her own loved one's dream: — 

" Thy prayer is heard, my beautiful, 

My loving one and bright! 
Thy lips -to me too soon will breathe 

Their last — yes, last 'Good nightl'" 

" Yes, mother, for I hear again 

The music softly flow, • 
And see the angels beckon me, — 

I 'm weary, and would go 

" To join that high and holy throng 

Who worship there above, — 
One kiss, dear mother! 'tis the last, 

Last pledge of earthly love !" 

She placed a kiss upon her child. 

In fondness, but in woe ; 
Then knelt in that deep agony. 

Which none but mothers know. 



68 THE, SICK child's LAMENT 

But when she rose the storm had ceased ; 

She felt as one who'd given, 
With all its pure and sinless truth, 

An angel back to heaven. 



A MIDNIGHT SONG, 

I AM alone, 'tis midnight hour, 
And midnight breezes fan my brow: 

How, with a deep and holy power, 
Are early memories gathering now I 

Tell me, ye pale and tranquil stars. 
That in such placid beauty shine, 

While anguish deep my spirit mars, 
Hold'st thou the lost and loved of mine ? 

Or art thou, like our own dark world, 
Redeemed by precious blood, set free ? 

From thy proud innocence been hurled ? 
Didst nail thy Savior to a tree? 



70 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 

Of if thou art what first thou seemed, 
A heaven where all is bright and fair, 

Where are those loving ones, who beamed 
In visioned loveliness while here? 



LINES WRITTEN FOE AN ALBUM. 

To write a few lines in your Album, my friend, 
Shall engross a few moments my thoughts and my pen : 
But in these few moments — oh, what shall I say ? 
Where shall I begin, or where leave off, I pray ? 

In the first place, I '11 speak of the wind and the weather, 
"With its clouds, and its storms, and its sunshine together: 
'Tis a picture of life, — all a moral may glean 
From each withering flower and murmuring stream. 

Oh ! the dreams of my childhood were brilliant and gay; 
But, like perishing flowers, they faded away : 
Like perishing flowers, they were born but to bloom, 
Then wither, and die, and sink in the tomb. 



72 LINES WRITTEN FOR A. N ALBUM. 

So bright were my visions, I oft would retreat 
To some lovely fountain, with flowers at my feet, 
And there such fair dreams of happiness frame 
As are known in this cold selfish world but by name. 

But ere eighteen brief summers had passed o'er my brow, 
The hope of my heart in the grave was laid low : 
Since then, who can tell, who can dare to divine, 
The sorrows and cares that have ever been mine ? 

Thou too, dearest friend, a deep sorrow hast known ; 
But I trust from thy spirit forever it 's flown : 
May the fair hopes that linger and dwell round thee yet, 
Soothe every sorrow and soften regret 1 

May thy son, like the oak, the forest's proud tree. 
Be a shelter, protection, and comfort to thee! 
May thy daughters be gentle, obedient, and kind, 
And possess every grace both of person and mind ! 



FAREWELL. 



" Farewell ! we shall not meet agiSn, 

As we are parting now, — 
I must my beating heart restrain, 

Must veil my burning brow." — L. E. L. 



Farewell ! the sorrow of that tone 

Falls sadly on mine ear: 
It was not hard to learn to love, 

But hard to learn to fear. 

Oh! sad indeed, to doubt the faith 
Of one once loved so well, — 

There 's anguish in the very thought, 
And madness in the spell. 



74 FAREWELL. 

That seems to wreath itself around 

This wounded heart of mine, 
Alas, that 'mid our dearest joys 

A dark wreath should entwine I 

When first I met thee, thou didst seem 

All that was fond and gay; 
Thy gentle voice, thy winning mien 

Could chase e'en care away. 

But now, thy voice has ceased to charm; 

Thy mien is cold and proud ; 
And that once sunny brow of thine 

Forever wears a cloud. 

"What changed thee thus? — what changed thee thus 

I can not dare surmise; 
Perhaps thou hast found a faire face ? 

Perhaps some brighter eyes? 

Oh, yes, they tell me thou art false. 

And love another now! 
Then be it so, I'll wear again 

The cypress round my brow. 



FAREWELL. 76 

When others join the festive train, 

And seek bright hours to keep, 
I'll turn me to my silent home, 

In solitude to weep. 



THE TRIUMPHS OF WAR. 



" No blood-stained victory, in story bright, 
Can give the philosophic mind delight — 
No triumph please ; while rage and death destroy, 
Eeflection sickens at the monstrous joy." — Bloomfield. 



Pkoud was the chariot that bore the bold warrior 
Swift were the steeds that sped him along; 

Wild were the strains of deep martial music 

That broke from their ranks in the soul of their song. 

Bound was the brow of the victor with glory ; 

Bright, as the laurels the proud Roman wore, 
Glittered his helmet, — beneath the broad sunlight 

Floated his banner in triumph before. 



THE TRIUMPHS OF WAR. 77 

Forth from each village, and city, and hamlet. 
Came the glad people their Chieftain to greet, 

Beautiful maidens with flowers they had gathered — 
Gathered to strew at the conqueror's feet. 

"Long live our Chieftain! the boldest the bravest ! — 
"Long live our Champion!" re-echoed afar; 

Proud grew his breast in that moment of triumph, 
But dark was his hand with the crimson of war. 

Wide flew the gateways that led to the palace: 
Banners were floating from turret and dome ; 

Fair ladies joyously waved him a welcome, — 
Welcome once more to his beautiful home. 

Bright flowed the wirie that night at the banquet; 

Pages presented it, bending the knee: 
Young maidens danced to the gayest of measures, 

Shouting aloud, " We are free ! we are free ! " 



THE MISERIES OF WAR. 



" After the brightest conquest, what aj^pears 
Of all the glories 'i For the vanquished, chains I — 
For the proud "victors, what ? alas, to reign 
O'er desolated nations I " — Hannah Moobe. 



Dark was the battle-field — dark with the carnage, 
Red with the blood of the wounded and slain ; 

Low plaintive moanings broke on the night winds -^ 
Moanings of anguish, moanings of pain. 

Pale gleamed the moonlight o'er the dead warriors ; 

Sad looked the stars on that desolate sight : 
Proud forms had perished that day in the battle ; 

Pond hopes had died 'mid the thickest of fight. 



THE MISERIES OF WAR. 79 

Hoof- trodden, scarred by the sword and the saber, 
All showed the place where the foemen had striven ; 

Mournfully mingled the laurel and cypress, 
Broken hearts wept for the ties that were riven. 

Sad sighed the Wind Spirit 'mid the lone branches, 
Sad as a requiem or dirge for the slain ; 

Pale watchers looked from their lone far-ofl' dwellings, 
Dreaming of loved ones they 'd meet not again. 

Paused I a moment beside a bold warrior ; 

Slowly his spirit was passing away, 
Grasped in his hand was the standard of battle, 

Bravely he'd fought for his country that day. 

" Scenes of my childhood," he murmured, in sadness, 
" Wife of my bosom, and children, adieu ! 

Farewell, my country! I fought for your freedom, — 
There are tears for my loved ones, but glory for you." 



A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 

May no dark sorrow ever fling 

Its shadows round thy path, 
But all things lovely, all things fair, 

Be thine in life and death! 

It was evening, gentle evening, 

'* Twilight dews were falling fast ; " 

Day, with all its radiant splendor, 
Like a brilliant dream had passed : 

I sat musing, sadly musing, 

On this weary world of ours, — 

'*True," I said, "life has its pleasures. 
Sometimes thorns, and sometimes flowers ; 



A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 81 

"But the thorns I've always gathered, 

For they in my pathway lay, — 
Shunning never the few flowers 

That were scattered by the way." 

As I thus sat sadly musing, 

Thy sweet voice fell on mine ear. 

Ringing out so glad and joyous, 
Bird-like, musical and clear. 

" Thou art happy, dearest sister," 
Thus I murmured sad and low, — ^ 

"May no darkling shadow ever 
Dim thy pathway here below.; 

" But like yonder flowing river. 
Like that fair and silvery stream. 

May thy life glide sweetly onward, 
Happy as a poet's dream — 

"Like that far-off land of sculpture. 
That sweet sunny, southern clime. 

Where 'tis always smiling summer, 
Never chilly winter time ! " 



82 A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 

This the prayer, O clearest sister! 

This the prayer I breathe for thee,- 
That thy life be ever happy, 

In time and in eternity 1 



THE PARTING. 



" But there was weeping far away ; 

And gentle eyes, for Mm 
With watcMng many an anxious day, 

Were sorrowful and dim." — Bbtant. 



"Ye woods and wilds," how bright ye seem! 

As green the mantle on your boughs, 
As when in days now long gone by, 

Ye listened to my Edmund's vows. 

The birds sang out their happiest song; 

The wild-flowers wore their brightest hue; 
The skies in beauty o'er us bent, 

Robed in their softest, loveliest blue. 



84 THE PARTING. 

Oh! were not those delightful hours 
When every hope of life was young ? 

How, with fond woman's trusting powers, 
Upon each tender word I hung ! 

But, ah! the blessed charm soon fled; 

For they who loved were doomed to part. 
The one to die in foreign lands. 

The other bear a broken heart. 

"We parted: — each returning morn 
I came to look upon the sea ; 

And every eve I sat me down 
Beneath the shadow of this tree. 

Porever hallowed be the spot, 

"Where first and last I sat with him I 

I've gazed upon the sacred place 
Until my very sight gi-ew dim. 

But soon the fatal news came back — 
It sped like wildfire through my brain — 

That he, the loved and gifted one. 
In battle on the seas was slain. 



THE PARTING. 85 

For many a long and weary month, 

I wandered forth a maniac wild, 
Until a mother's tender care 

Kestored the reason of her child. 

Since then, with fond but faded hopes, 
I've wandered through the earth alone; 

Cheered by the high and holy hope, 
I yet shall meet with him I mourn. 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 

" Can this be death ? There 's bloom upon her check I 
But now I see it is no living hue, 
But a strange hectic — like the unnatural red 
"Which autumn plants upon the perished leaf." 

'TwAs on a lovely sabbath eve, 

I walked me forth to take the air, 
When, 'neath a vine-clad cottage roof, 

I saw a young and lovely pair: 
The youth was tall and finely formed ^ 

But in his dark, expressive eye 
Some deep laid sorrow seemed to dwell, 

And from his bosom came a sigh. 

The lady, fair and slightly formed, — 
Her eyes were dark, and lustrous too,- 

But, oh ! that lovely cheek of hers 
Wore far too deep the roseate hue. 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 87 

I listened, but no word was spoken ; 

A low, deep cough broke on mine ear, — 
It was enough, I turned aside 

To dry away a starting tear. 

The lady spoke at length, and said — 

"Dearest! I soon from thee must part, 
But I shall bear, e'en unto death. 

Thine image graved upon my heart? 
Thy watchful love, thy tender care 

Of me, I never can requite ; 
But there is One who dwells above. 

And wiU reward in power and might." 

"Nay! talk not thus," he wildly said — 

" Bo young, so fair, so lately wed ! 
I can not bear to think that thou 

Must wear the cypress o 'er thy brow ; 
I can not bear to yield thee up ! 

God give me grace to drink the cup ! " 

"Cease thy repinings — vain indeed, — 
For, oh ! I feel death on me now : — 
8 



88 THECONSUMPTIVE. 

Here, clasp me closer to thy heart, 

And lay thy hand upon my brow; — 
And say, beloved, wlien I am gone, 

Thou wilt not mourn for my return ; 
Life's feverish dreams are almost o'er, — 

We part, dear friend, to meet no more 
On earth ; but ties, thus rudely riven, 

Will soon be fondly blent in heaven 1 " 

She spoke no more, her breath failed fast, 

She gave one look — it was the last — 
'Twas full of faith, and hope, and love; 

Then raising her dying eyes above. 
He sadly bowed himself and wept : 

The servants deemed their lady slept. 
And wondered at the grief so wild 

That bowed their master like a child ; 
But soon the truth upon them broke — 

She wept indeed, but never woke ! 



Not long he lingered here below. 
With none to soothe his silent woe: 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 89 

They sleep together, side by side — 
The bridegroom, and his fair young bride ; 

Not on a downy couch they lay, 
But in their prison-house of clay; 

Their bodies rest beneath the sod — 
Their spirits dwell, I trust, with God. 



JOSEPHINE'S EEMONSTBANCE. 

" Bonaparte, behold that bright star ; it is mine ! and remember 
to mine — not thine — has sovereignty been promised. Separate, then 
our fates, and your star fades." 

Nay, bid me not depart from thee! 

Thou hast not said the word ; 
Or it is all forgotten now, 

Or else not rightly heard. 

Speak quickly! tell me 'tis not sol 

I have not heard aright! 
Thou wouldst not cast upon my soul 

This dark and withering blight! 

Kapoleon ! in that fatal hour 

Peace will from thee depart ; 
And not alone shall I be doomed 

To bear a broken heart. 



Josephine's remonstrance. 91 

Yet think not that I wish 't were so, — 

God knows this heart of mine, 
That dear and precious to my soul, 

Is every wish of thine. 

Yet bear in mind, the crown you wear 

Was promised unto me; 
That I, not thou, have ever been 

The Child of Destinv. 

Apart from me thou canst not live, 

Thy fortunes will decay, 
And thou, Napoleon! in that hour, . 

Wilt think on what I say. 

And yet I would not seek to move 

Thy purpose, firmly set ; 
But, oh! forgive the tender hopes 

That cling to memory yet! 



THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 

Thou canst not forget me: I know that thy heart 

Will cherish my memory wherever thou art ; 

My image will rise, like a spirit, to thee, — • 

Thou mayst strive, but, alas ! thou canst never be free. 

'Midst the gay and the giddy, thou 'It seek to forget, 
But vain are thy strivings, thou still must regret: 
The hopes thou hast blighted, the heart cast away. 
Will linger around thee till life's latest day. 

And I — oh, my spirit is dark as the night. 
When I think of the hopes thou hadst power to blight ! 
But think not I hate thee ; no, still in my heart 
Thou art shrined, and from memory thou ne'er canst 
depart. 



THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 93 

When evening's soft shadows shall wreathe round my 

head, 
And the day in its splendor and beauty hath fled, 
Oh ! then in my spirit thou surely shalt claim 
A place, and in prayer I will murmur thy name! 

Oh! wilt thou not turn from the snares that allure, 
And seek for the joys that are holy and pure ? 
'"Twill save thee from sorrow, from folly and vice, 
Then seek for one gem — 'tis the pearl of great price. 



ELEGIAC LINES. 

Awake, my mournful harp, once more, 
Awake and sing thy saddest strain 1 

Thrice have I tried to touch my lyre, 
And thrice my efforts proved in vain. 

But now, with trembling sadness, I 
Haste to obey a loved request: 

WorM that with holy feeling I 

Cuuld every word and thought invest. 

Mournful indeed, and sad thy fate ; 

Far, far from all to thee most deai-^ 
To wrestle with the monster Death, 

"Within that desert lone and dear. 



ELEGIAC LINES. 95 

No tender sister o'er thee stood ; 

No fond and sorrowing mother there, 
With all a mother's holy love, 

Breathed forth for thee a last sad prayer. 

A worn, but now a broken band, 

With mournful step and slow, 
Bore thee unto thy silent home. 

And laid thy proud form low. 

With lonely sorrow on their hearts 

And many a, lingering look. 
With folded arms upon their breasts, 

Their last farewell they took ; 

Then turned away with saddened hearts. 

And brows of sadness too ; 
And tears 't were wrung from manly eyes, 

Now spoke their last adieu. 

And thou, O sorrowing mother! thou— 
What anguish hast thou known ! 

And how has cruel destiny 
Thy fondest hopes o'crthrown! 

9 



96 ELEGIAC LINES. 

Did dark, prophetic visions come 

To warn thee of his fate ? 
And didst thou dream, ere three moons passed 

Thou shouldst be desolate ? 

Ah, no! for hope is ever strong 

And bright within the breast, 
And phantoms ever lure us on, 

And say we shall be blest. 

And blest, indeed, thou yet shalt be, 
In that bright heaven to which he's gone: 

It is no idle promise now. 

It is no phantom, lures thee on. 



TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 



" Divinest Art ! the stars above 
Were fated on thy birth to shine I 

Oh, born of beauty and of love, 
What early poetry was tMne I" 



Have you been abroad to a far-off land, 

To win for yourself a name ? 
With an aching heart 'neath a foreign sky, 

Have you toiled for the breath of fame ? 

If not, then away with your easel now, 
Your paint and your pencils too; 

For, could you draw with a mightier skill 
Than the art of a Kaphael knew, 



98 TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 

'T would avail you not : they would pass you by, 

They would coldly hurry on 
To one who had come from a distant clime — 

A rare and a wondrous one. 

But you say, you love your native land ; 

That her hills, all bathed in light, 
Are scenes that an artist holds most dear — 

A fair and a lovely sight. 

'T is true ; we can boast of noble trees, 
Broad streams, and fairest flowers ; 

That a thousand varied beauties dwell 
In this happy land of ours. 

But heed them not — away ! away I 

Though the loving and the true 
Should linger around with a holy spell, 

Oh, bid them a long adieu! 

But you say, that your mother's heart would break ; 

That you are her only stay ; 
That her cheek would pale, and her eye grow dim, 

While you 'd " tempt fame's dangerous way." 



TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 99 

Then be content with your lowly lot, 

And time to you may bring 
Something more worthy of your art, 

Than a poet's offering. ^ 



I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 

I WAS not always sorrowful, 

Nor was I always sad; 
Kay, fond hopes once dwelt in my heart. 

And made my spirit glad. 

But now those hopes have passed away — 

Hopes far too bright to last ; 
They faded when the autumn flowers 

Sank 'neath the autumn blast. 

Those gentle hopes have passed away — 

Hopes unto mortals given, 
That they may have a foretaste, here. 

Of their blest home in heaven. 



I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 101 

Oh! once I had a blessed dream, — 

It filled me with delight: — 
A vision full of happiness 

Stole o'er me in the night. 

I thought the absent and the loved 

Was standing by my side, 
In all his youthful loveliness — 

In all his manhood's pride. 

•a 

At first, amid a crowd he stood; 

But quick to me he came, 
And, in his soft, endearing tone, 

He fondly breathed nay name. 

I started up — I would not lose, 

For worlds, a single word ; 
For every feeling of my soul 

By that dear voice was stirred. 

He said — "Oh! I am happy now, — 

Far happier than when here ; 
Then cease to wear a saddened brow, 

Or shed for me a tear. 



102 I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 

''For could you see my happy home — 

Those mansions of the blest, 
Where all can hang confidingly 

Upon their Saviour's breast, 

" You would not wish to call me back 
To this dark world of woe ; 

Not e'en thy voice could bid me stay, — 
Then, dear one, let me go." 

Long years have passed since that dear form 
Last lingered on my sight, 
* And Hope hath woven many a dream 
To cheer the gloom of night ; 

But never to my spirit yet. 
One, half so sweet, was given. 

As that which came with gentle hopes 
To point my soul to heaven. 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO MY SISTER AT SCHOOL. 

" Tlie flusli of youth soon passes from the face, 
The spells of Fancy from the mind depart : 
The form may lose its symmetry and grace 
But time can claim no victory o'er the heart." 

Mrs. Dinnies. 

Dear sister ! could I bring to thee 

Gems from the purest mine, 
And all the treasures of the earth 

In one great whole combine, 
A better, nay a holier gift, 

To thee could not be given, 
Than that which education brings, 

With a true faith in heaven. 



104 LINES. 

These blessings are within thy grasp, 

Oh ! haste to seize them now ; 
May modest virtue fill thy heart, 

And laurels crown thy brow ! 
From the church spires by thy side, 

Goes forth the voice of prayer, 
And thou mayst sing thy hymns of praise 

Free as the birds of air. 



The bird that gayly sings her song, 

And fluttering spreads her wing, 
Breathes not a purer air than thou — 

May not more freely sing. 
Born 'neath the happiest sky on earth, 

What homage shouldst thou render 
To Him, who with such holy care 

Watches thy years so tender. 

And now in youth, in early youth, 
Indulge not freaks of folly. 

Lest after years should bring to thee 
Regret and melancholy: 



LINES. 105 

But prize thy blessings, prize them well, 

Oh ! clasp them to thy heart ; 
And never, never, e'en through life, 

From these best gifts depart. 



MUSINGS. 



" The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never sure been born, 
Had there not been some recompense, 

To comfort those that mourn."— Buens. 



'T WAS by a flowing river, on a green and mossy bed, 
I, in silent sadness, pondered, and reclined my weary 

head ; 
My thoughts went flowing, flowing like a wild and 

rapid stream,^ 
But it was no theme of fancy — no sweet, poetic dream 

That pressed upon my spirit, but the bitter ills of life, 
With which this world, though beautiful, is ever, ever 

rife : 
'T was of the widowed mother, who toils both day and 

night, 
To feed her orphan children, and earn her widow's mite. 



MUSINGS. 107 

With a worn and weary spirit, with a sad and aching 

brow, 
To the bitter ills of poverty how hardly does she 

bow! 
Oh ! crud are the heartless ones, who could the poor 

oppress, 
Kor ever seek to aid them, amid their deep distress. 



The rich, the gay, the happy, how swiftly do they 

glide 
Adown the sunny stream of life, in plenteousness and 

pride ; 
They seldom think upon the poor, who toil from year 

to year. 
With heavy grief upon their hearts, and none their 

tasks to cheer. 



No bright dreams of the future, no sweet dreams of the 

past. 
But a fund of bitter memories, their spirits overcast ; 
How languidly the needle is plied with bitter pain, — 
Comes sickness, direst evil ! amid the meager train. 



108 MUSINGS. 

Oh! many are the sorrows that press upon the poor: 
May God, who watches o'er them, give them strength 

but to endure; 
And when their days are ended, may they dwell amid 

the blest, 
And hear the welcome summons, "Come, ye weary 

ones, and rest." 



THE GIFT. 

You ask of me a lock of hair : 
E'en then so let it be, — 

A fond memento of my love, 
A gift, dear friend, for thee. 

Others may seek for gaudy toys, 
And some for jewels rare. 

But as a pledge of friendship, I 
Will give a lock of hair. 

Wilt thou not lay it with thy gifts 
Of fond friends far from thee. 

And prize it for the giver's sake. 
Thy absent friend, H. T. ? 



SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. 

I DWELL in the mountains, far away 

From the busy scenes of strife, 
Where the flowers in their shadowy beauty lay, 

And the air is with fragrance rife ; 
Where the ringdove fills the groves with song, 

And all the birds of spring 
Their lovely matin notes prolong. 

While the dew's on each glittering wing. 

A lovely and sheltered cot is mine, 
Closed round with its summer screen 

Of many a fair and clustering vine, 
On a carpet of tufted green: 



SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. Ill 

My father and mother bless me oft, 

For I am their only child; 
And their gentle accents, sweet and soft, 

Bring joy to the mountains wild. 

10 



THE CONTRAST. 

" Oh, listen in mercy, ye sons of wealth, 

Basking in comfort, and glowing with health I 
Give whate'er ye can spare, and be ye sure, 
He serveth his Master who aideth the poor." 

Eliza Cook. 

The night was cold, and drear, and shrill 
The winds blew loud o'er heath and hill ; 
The darkening clouds were gathering fast, 
And strong trees bowed 'neath the sullen blast; 
"While a few pale stars with faint ray shone 
O'er a lowly cot and a stately home. 

That stately home was a palace fair. 
And comfort and light and warmth were there, 
And young feet danced with footsteps light, 
And fair forms shone in the clear lamp-light ; 
No fears for them had the storm without — 
They answered it oft with a merry shout. 



THE CONTRAST. 113 

But a different place was the humble shed 
Where the widow toiled for her daily bread : 
Lonely she sat by her scant fireside, 
And with weary fingers her needle plied ; 
While the feathery snow came drifting through, 
And the winds more loudlv and wildly blew. 



With quiet step to the cradle she crept, 
Where her youngest, fairest darling slept, 
And o'er it bent with a look of love. 
Like a parent bird o'er a nestled dove. 
" Sleep, dearest, sleep," she murmured low. 
In the broken tones of grief and woe : 



"In yon castle proud there are feastings fair. 
For the birth-night's come of their noble heir. 
And he proudly stands in his manhood's age. 
And claims broad lands for his heritage. 
I, too, had a son, — but he's gone from me. 
They have made his grave 'neath the churchyard 
tree. 



114 THE CONTRAST. 

Oh ! little ye think, ye rich and great, 
As ye proudly revel in halls of state, 
Of the lone and poor, who pine and die 
'Neath the chilling blasts of a winter sky ! 
When a few kind words, and a little part 
Of your gold, might save a broken heart. 



LINES TO A BIRD. 

Thou pretty, little, sparkling bird ! 

"Why dost thou come so near ? 
Say, dost thou see me quite alone, 

And come my heart to cheer ? 

'T is true, I do seem quite alone : 

But, ah ! it is not so ; 
For lofty thoughts are in my heart, 

Nor would I let them go. 

To mingle with the giddy ones, 
Who bow at fashion's shrine ; 

For they the diamonds only wear,. 
While I secure the mine. 



116 TO A BIRD. 

Then, as they gayly float along 
I '11 sing this song for thee ; 

But, oh ! it is not half so sweet 
As thine own minstrelsy. 



THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. 

'TwAs night, the midnight hour: 
k. thousand stars lit up the calm blue vault 
Of heaven. The moon, so fitly named 
The Regent of the sky, sat like a queen 
Amid her glittering train, shedding her 
Silvery rays upon a stately mansion. 
One of England's proudest homes. Around were 
Noble trees, yea, rugged oaks, that bore upon 
Their brows the age of centuries ; broad walks, 
Reflecting back a thousand rays from many 
Tinted shells ; sweet flowers, whose gentle breath 
Went floating out like incense on the air; 
Bright founts and lovely streams were murmuring 
On, like strains of distant music. All, all 
Was hushed ; no sound disturbed the sleeping 



118 THE skeptic's LAST NIGHT. 

Beauty of the scene. But who is this, that 

Comes with pallid cheek and feverish brow. 

And gazes out upon the midnight sky, 

As though he sought to read his destiny ? 

Silent, with folded arms, he stood : but now 

He speaks — " Man's race is short, short from the cradle 

To the tomb ; and then he sleeps forever. 

The Grecian sages thought not thus, — but they 

Were 'dreaming bigots;' — The Christian's hope's an 

Idle mockery." 

" Presumptuous man ! vain dreamer 
Of unholy dreams ! away with such a creed I'* 
"Wildly he started back, more pallid grew 
His brow ; for, lo ! beside him stood a female 
Form, clad in the cold habiliments of 
Death. Then Memory, faithful to her trust, 
Kushed o'er his guilty soul, and conjured 
Up the past. 

''Dim, shadowy Form!" he murmured — 
" Pale visitant of other days ! what dost 
Thou here ? Say, dost thou come to mock rae with 
The past, or warn me of the future ?" 



THE skeptic's LAST NIGHT. 119 

Again 
The Specter spoke — " Froud man ! thy days are num- 
bered : 
Ere the sun shall rise and set and rise again, 
Thou wilt be far hence; thy disembodied 
Spirit will have passed into the presence of that God 
Whom thou, with impious breath, hast dared to 
Scorn. Ah ! we shall meet again at that dread 
Bar, where all are equal. And now, farewell, 
Thou, who didst whisper in mine ear words 
Poisonous as the deadly Upas tree. 
Whose very shades are death ! — didst rob my youth 
Of innocence, betray my too confiding 
Love, and leave me in a world so dark, that 
Not one ray of light e'er pierced its dreadful 
Gloom ! — farewell ! But ere I go, the spirit 
Of an erring but redeemed mortal. 
Bids me tell thee, thou mayst yet repent 
And live." 

Slowly the dim form faded from 
His sight. Silent he souglit his lonely couch, 
To toss all night in restless dreams. 
11 



120 THE SKEPTICS LAST NIGHT. 

Next morn he sought his friends, 
And with a mocking lip, that ill concealed 
The heavy weight that preyed upon his soul : 
He told his tale, but said he would survive the time. 
That day his voice was heard amid his country's halls, 
Charming a thousand hearts. 
By its rare power of Eloquence. 

But, lo ! 't was night : 
Again he stood beside the casement ; 
Gazing upon the lovely scene without. 

Sudden he shrank away, 
As if it was too fair for him to look upon. 
Muttering strange words, he fixed his eye 
Upon the dial of the clock — 

And when the hand reached twelve, he shrieked, — 
And thus the Skeptic died. 



GEORGIANA. 



" Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, 
And dashed it out." — Mrs. Sigoubnby. 



They laid her in her little grave, 
With flowers upon her breast, — 

A lovely blossom for the sky, 
So fragile yet so blest. 

In shadowy beauty o'er her brow, 
The lifelike tresses lay ; 

Her eyes were closed, as closed in sleep- 
Death scarce had dimmed their ray. 

We grieved to lay the gentle child 
Within the darkening tomb, 

When the sweet flowers were putting forth 

Their loveliness and bloom. 



122 GEORGIANA. 

But, ah I it was a selfish grief: 
In yon bright world of bliss, 

She '11 never know the bitter care 
That dims our path in this. 



IDA. 

Disturb not her slumbers, but let her sleep on, 

In her beauty and innocence there : 
The world was too dreary, too dark and too cold; 

She too lovely, too fragile and fair. 

The soft breath of summer just passed o'er he) brow, 

As the gentle dew kisses the flowers. 
When she faded away, like a beautiful dream. 

To the land of Elysian bowers. 

Sad, sad is the heart of that fond mother, now, 
Since the pet of her household is gone. 

And faded away the sweet hope of her life, 
Which a halo around her had thrown. 



124 IDA. 

Oh ! why put our trust in the frail things of earth, 
When we know they so soon must decay; 

Why make ourselves idols, and cling to them still, 
When we know that those idols are clay! 



THE lEISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA. 

Cold and dreary blew the night winds, 

Sad, oh ! sad this heart of mine, 
When, like some lone pilgrim weary, 

First I sought these shores of thine : 
Stars and stripes were proudly floating. 

Freely fluttering in the breeze, 
Which, with low and solemn cadence, 

Sighed amid the leafless trees. 

Many a broad and shining river, 

Like fair sheets of silver lay ; 
Snow-capped hills and towering mountains 

Glittered 'neath the moon's soft ray ; 



126 THE IRISH exile's ADDRESS TO AMERICA 

Birds had souglit a kindlier climate 
'Neath the myrtle's gentle shade, 

Or amid the orange flowers, 
Their little nests had made. 



Home, with all its fond endearments, 

" Home, sweet home," was far away ; 
Not a single thought had cheered me 

Through that live-long winter's day: 
Then came worn and weary slumbers. 

Sadly broken through the night; 
But I woke and saw thy banners 

Proudly floating in the light. 

Then I murmured, Erin ! Erin ! 

Thou bright Emerald of the sea. 
Fain I'd linger always near thee, 

But, alas ! thou art not free ; 
Tyrant hands have strongly bound thee, 

Fettered power and might and will, 
Yet thou still art precious to me: 

'«With thy faults, I love thee still." 



THE IRISH exile's ADDRESS TO AMERICA. 127 

But beneath these stars so glorious, 
Far from kindred, far from thee; 

Though all other ties are broken, 
Let me dwell amid the free I 



THE YOUNG WIFE'S SONG. 

I LIST for thy footsteps, my darling; 

I've waited and watched for thee long: 
The dim woods have heard my complainings, 

And sorrow has saddened my song. 

The last rays of sunset are gilding 
The hill- tops with purple and gold ; 

And, lo I in yon azure dominion, 
Does a beautiful rainbow unfold. 

Like the hues of that rainbow, my spirit 

All fondly is blended with thine ; 
Then how canst thou linger away, love, 

When thou know'st this fond spirit will pine ? 



THE YOUNG WIFe's SONG. 129 

The game and the chase are alluring, 

I know, my bold hunter, for thee ; 
But when borne on thy swift Arab courser, 

Do thy thoughts ever wander to me ? 

Or e'er to the home of my childhood, 

The beautiful cot far away. 
Where the birds sang so sweet, in their gladness, 

And I was as happy as they? 

The lone willow droops in its sadness ; 

The stern oak stands sturdy and still ; 
But a loved form is seen in the distance. 

And footsteps are heard on the hill. 

" 'T is he ! 't is my Ulric ! I hear him, 

I see him ; O ! joy, he is here ! " 
She threw back her curls in her gladness. 

And silently brushed off a tear. 

There were low murmured words of forgiveness ; 

Fond clasping of hands, and a kiss. 
The past ! ah ! the past is forgotten. 

What could mar such a moment as this! 



PRESENTIMENTS. 

Oh ! why this utter loneliness of heart ! 

These deep, wild throbbings, and these tears that start — 

This heavy sorrow spurning all control, 

And painful thoughts which crowd upon the soul ? 

And why these shadows, which around me gleam, 
Like the wild phantoms of a midnight dream, 
With words half spoken, thoughts but half expressed, 
Bobbing my days of peace, my nights of rest ? 



ANNIE ADAIR. 

"There's not in this wide world" 

A maiden more fair 
Than the one I love best, 

My sweet Annie Adair I 

Soft, soft are her tresses 

Of fair golden hue. 
But more soft are her bright eyes 

Of loveliest blue. 

Her form's like a sylph. 
Her step's like a fawn, 

As gayly she trips 

Over meadow and lawn. 



132 ANNIE ADAIR. 

The violet scarce bends 
'Neath her delicate tread, 

And the lily just bows down 
Its beautiful head. 

There 's not in this wide world 
A maiden more fair 

Than the one I love best, 
My sweet Annie Adair I 



LINES 

ON BEING SHOWN A TRESS OP HAIR. 

INSORIBED TO MRS. A. 8MALLET, OF KENTUOKT. 

This little tress of soft, fair hair, 
I've kept for many years, 

Embalmed it with a mother's love. 
And watered it with tears. 

With trembling hand 1 severed it 
From off a brow so fair: — 

Alas I of all so beautiful, 
This death alone could spare 



134: THE TRESS OFHAIR. 

Unto my aching, frenzied sight ! 

Each tear I would repress : 
But vain ; for woman's grief breaks forth 

In gushing tenderness. 

A fragile plant to me was given ; 

I nurtured from its birth, 
And watched to see my flower expand — 

It blooms, but not on earth. 

I found it was not given to me — 

To me 't was only lent ; 
And now, with heavenly choirs above, 

My radiant flower is blent. 

Be still, be still, each murmuring thought ; 

Dost hear that music's flow ? 
More sweetly stealing o'er my soul 

Than touch of lute-chords low. 

It is my darling's voice I hear ; 

It thrills with rapture wild : 
Fain would I break these bonds of clay, 

To clasp my angel child. 



THE TRESS OF HAIR. 135 

But I am earthly, earth's dark stain 

Is on my spirit still : 
Unmurmuringly I bow my head — 

"My Father, 'tis thy will." 



12 



LINES 



ACCOMPANYING A BOUQUET OP LILIES AND ROSES 



" In eastern lands they talk in flowers, 
In garlands they tell their loves and cares." 



ITo purer offering could I bring 
To lay, sweet lady, on thy shrine, 

Than this fair gift of humble flowers, 
This simple, floral gift of mine. 

An emblem of thyself, fair girl. 

They bloom in beauty and in pride 1 

The Rose, though queen of all the flowers, 
An humbler flower will ne'er deride; 



THE BOUQUET. 137 

But ever spreads its sheltering leaves 
To screen the Lily's drooping head : 

Be this thy task, O gentle maid ! 
To cheer the lone whose hopes have fled. 



THE CAPTIVE WAREIOR'S LAMENT 

" My limbs are "bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 

For they have heen a dungeon's spoil, 
* 

And mine has heen the fate of those 

To whom the goodly earth and air 

Are banned and barred — forbidden fare." 

BrRoN — Prisoner of ChUlon, 

Again the morning sun returns, 

To gild the Eastern sky, 
Yet still, a captive lone I j)ine, 

A captive must I die ! 

Oh ! shall I never tread again, 

■ With step and spirit fi'eo, 
The hills I 've trod a thousand times, 
In days of boyhood's glee? 



THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR's LAMENT. 139 

The poorest serf can idly roam, 

And none will ask him why; 
Whilst I, a warrior true and tried, 

A helpless captive lie ! 

Oh ! for my steed, my noble steed, 

My good and gallant gray, 
To bear me to the battle-field, 

Or perish by the way ! 

Methinks it is a glorious death, 

In freedom's cause to die, 
"While shouts of victory round us peal, 

And foes before us fly; 

But thus to linger day by day. 

Amid this dungeon's gloom, 
This sepulcher of all my hopes, 

This worse than living tomb! 

What ! drops of weakness, will ye come ? 

No shame that ye should start ; 
The tear that stains a warrior's cheek 

Is from a patriot's heart. 



THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 

"Is it he? is it he? — do I hear his step?" 
And with trembling haste to the window she crept; 
"Ko, 'twas but the rustling of the breeze 
'Mid the autumn woods, as they cast their leaves. 

''I have waited long, I have looked in vain — 
O God ! will he never return again ?" 
Long, long had she stood by the casement there, 
With her settled look of deep despair ; 

Ever her cheek would flush and pale 
As she heard the rude winds of the early gale : 
"He is gone!" once more she murmured in pain, 
"He is gone, and I dare not even complain. 



THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 141 

" Just, just is thy sentence, O God ! and I bow 
With a broken spirit before thee now. 
Had I heeded the words by my father spoken, 
Or a mother's prayer ere her heart had broken ; 

" Not turned a deaf ear to a brother brave, 
Nor slighted the warning he kindly gave ; 
I should not have wept, and wept in vain. 
For that faithless one to return again." 



THE MISSIONARIES. 

PART PIRST. 

'T WAS evening : all was calm and still ; 
No sound, save the lone whippowil, 
Broke on the stillness of that hour, 
Within that gloomy woodland bower; 
Fair Cynthia shone with ray serene 
O'er hill and valley, clothed in green ; 
And hill and valley, lake and wood, 
Were wrapped in deepest solitude. 

The stars were, round their nightly queen, 
Arrayed in splendid silvery sheen, 
And Nature in her loveliest mood, 
Seemed holding converse with the good. 



THE MISSIONARIES. 143 

It was, indeed, a lovely night! 
The wild birds all had winged their flight 
Home, to their lofty nests on high, 
Beneath the broad and azure sky. 

The Indian in his wigwam lay, 
Dreaming the unconscious hours away; 
And all was hushed, and not a sound 
Disturbed the solemn shades around. 
But hark! a voice breaks on the ear, 
And fills the heart with sudden fear ; 
And, lo ! beside that rock-bound shore, 
Strange forms are seen ne'er seen before. 



And now, with mast and pennon fair, 
A stately ship was standing there, — 
"Which, on that waste of waters wide, 
Before, was never seen to glide. 
The Indian, startled with afii-ight, 
Looked out upon the brow of night, 
And quickly springing from the ground. 
Made the wild woods re-echo round. 
13 



144 THE MISSIONARIES. 

"Wake, brother! wake! the White Man's come 
To drive us from our mountain home ; 
And soon, with fierce and bloody hand, 
They '11 force us from our own loved land !" 
He boldly spoke, and by them stood, 
Amid that deep embowering wood, 
With folded arms and haughty head, 
Then sternly to their leader said — 

" What brings thee, pale-faced stranger ! here ? 

To hunt with us the bounding deer ? 

Or dost thou think by cruel art, 

We fi'om our hunting-grounds will part ? 

Or 'neath the fir-tree and the pine. 

Wilt trafiic here with rum and wine ?" 

The stranger quickly gave his hand. 

And thus replied in accents bland : — 

'' We seek not to oppress the brave, 
Or drive them to a bloody grave ; 
And though no foot of land is ours, 
We do not want your woodland bowers ; 



THE MISSIONARIES. 145 

The fatal wine we never sip, 
Or place it to our brother's lip : 
No, we have come far o'er the wave, 
To tell thee, Jesus died to save." 

*' We for his sake count all things loss ;-— 
Leave home and country for the cross; 
Yes, gladly bade them all farewell, 
That we the wondrous tale might tell, 
Repeat the story of his birth. 
His love to fallen sons of -earth — 
Tell how that false and murderous crew, 
With vengeful hands, their Master slew — 



" Of Judas speak, that erring one, 
Who 's justly called perdition's son, 
Who, with his false and flattering breath, 
Betrayed his Master unto death. 
O God of mercy ! grant me grace, 
To teach this dark benighted race 
That Jesus lives and reigns above, 
And rules in majesty and love I" ' 



146 THE MISSIONARIES. 



PART SECOND. 



Kind reader ! once again we meet 
Each other, once more fondly greet. 
It is not now at gentle even, 
While stars bedeck the vault of heaven, — 
1^0, Sol's bright rays have reached the sky, 
And morn's first smile just greets the eye ; 
A winding horn is loudly heard, 
Kesounding through a neighboring wood. 



And now, perhaps, my readers ween 
I would describe a hunting scene! 
Not mine, to tell of idle sport. 
Or chaste Diana's votaries court, — 
In solemn truths I hope to deal, 
With prayer that I each truth may feel— 
Oh, may each word that I impart 
Shed hallowed radiance round the heart ! 



Now, gentle reader, bend thine ear. 
For angels keep their vigils here ; 



THE MISSIONARIES. 14:7 

And 'mid the forest, I have found 

A spot of consecrated ground. 

Now stretch thine e^^e o'er yonder plain, 

O'er yonder sloping wide domain. 

And look again, upon the sod 

They 've pitched their tents to worship God. 

" They ! whom ?" methinks 1 hear you say — 
They who came o'er the watery way ?" 
No, but the converts God has given 
To these devoted sons of heaven ; 
Behold, a band of warriors brave. 

All stately, dignified, and grave ; 
Slowly they wend their way along. 
Chanting aloud a solemn song. 
List ! list ! and you their lay may hear. 
As they approach — draw near, draw near. 

" Our weapons of warfare we 've grounded, 

'Gainst Jesus no longer we fight. 
But join now in deep adoration 

To our Saviour in solemn delight. 



148 THE MISSIONARIES. 

''Oh! blest be the day when the White Man 
First sought 'mid our forests to roam, 

Forsaking the land of his birthplace, 
And leaving his own cherished home. 

" In ignorance and darkness we wandered, 
No man for our souls seemed to care; 

But what will not truth oft accomplish, 
Accompanied by teaching and prayer ?" 

A new scene now awaits our view, 
A scene of all that 's good and true : 
A ring was formed, where on the ground 
Benches and chairs were strewn around ; 
A table in the center stood. 
Roughly formed of oaken wood ; 
The minister was standing there, 
Lost in deep thoughtfulness and prayer. 

An emblem in his hand he bore, 
A pledge of love, which ne'er before 
Had the untutored forest child 
Beheld, within that western wild ; 



THE MISSIONARIES. 149 

And now he took the bread, and brake, 
And kindly bade the Red Man take — 
" Memorial of his love for thee ; 
Do this, He said, and think of me." 

They ate the bread, and drank the wine, 
And thought upon that glorious Yine ; 
And as they rose, each wood and glen 
Re-echoed with a loud "Amen!" 



I WILL HOPE. 

I WILL hope, I will hope, 
Though my pathway be set 

With the darkest of sorrows, 
And deepest regret. 

I will hope, I will hope. 

Though youth's visions may flee ; 
I'll believe there is something 

In future for me. 

I will launch my frail bark, 

I will breast every gale, 
Though my rudder be riven, 

And shattered my sail. 



I WILL HOPE. 161 

Hope's anchor shall guide me, 

And bring me aright, 
When the world's fleeting visions 

Shall fade from my sight. 



I SHALL THINK OF THEE. 

I SHALL think of thee at morning, 
When the birds sing loud and free, 

And the carol of their pleasant tones 
Will mind me oft of thee. 

I shall think of thee at noontide, 

When the sun shines bright and high 

The language of thy gentle voice, 
And of thy soft, dark eye. 

I shall think of thee at spring-time, 
When the flowers bud and bloom, 

And shed abroad their fragrance rare, 
With beauty and perfume. 



I SHALL THINK OF THEE. 153 

And when July's hot, sultry sky 

Shall mind me spring is past, 
I'll think, like thy affection, 

'Twas bright, but could not last. 



WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 



" Go, ring the bells, and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banner out ; 

Shout, * Freedom !' till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle shout." — Whittikr. 



Welcome, thou noble chief! 

Welcome, thy peril's o'er! 
A million freemen greet thee now, 

On fair Columbia's shore. 

Welcome to Freedom's land ! 

Our stars and stripes, unfurled, 
Invite thee to a peaceful home,^ 

Within our Western World. 



WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 155 

Cut light the billows, thou fair ship — 

A precious freight is thine ; 
Thou bearest an exiled Patriot 

To Freedom's holy shrine ; 

Thou bearest a warrior from afar, 

Freed from a galling chain. 
And withered be the arm that seeks 

To bind the brave again. 

Children of Hungary ! thy wrongs 

Awake our pitying care ; 
At morn, at night, at noon, at eve, 

We breathe for thee a prayer, — 

That thou mayst yet be free indeed, 

Free as the mountain breeze 
That plays upon our own broad streams, 

And murmurs 'mid our trees. 

May Freedom's watchword yet ring out 

Amid thy hills so blue ; 
And thine be yet the happiest home 

That freemen ever knew. 



156 WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 

Austria ! tby dark, despotic power 

Is resting over all; 
But false ambition 's round thee thrown, 

And sure will be thy fall. 

A nation's tears are on thee now, 
Widows and orphans weep. 

And stern men in their souls have vowed 
Their high resolves to keep. 



[As I sat alone by my chamber window, a few evenings after the 
death of a beloved friend, a beautiful bird, of a peculiar kind, 
came and stood on my work-basket. There was something so 
plaintive in its low, melancholy note, it touched a chord of sym- 
pathy, and immediately turning over the leaves of my Scrap-Book, 
I inserted the following lines.] 

BIED OF THE SUMMER. 

Bright bird of the summer ! 

From whence hast thou flown ? 
Ah ! speak, pretty warbler, — 

Art left all alone ? 

Have thy playmates all left thee? 

Thy companions all gone ? 
Come, then, to this bosom — 

I too am alone! 



158 BIRD OF THE SUMMER. 

Not SO, in the proud day of pomp and of pride, 
All courted my favor, all sought the gay bride;- 
But now, I in sadness am left here to mourn. 
And grieve for the joys that can never return. 

Then stay, pretty warbler, and sing me a song! 
Oh ! sing me a requiem for joys that are gone ! 
Thy beautiful notes, though so plaintive and sad, 
Will fall on mine ear, and make my heart glad. 

Thou wilt not! thou sayest? 

Then unhurt fly away. 
O'er mountain and stream, — 

Thy flight I '11 not stay : 

But my hopes shall go with thee. 

And wish to the last, 
Like thee, pretty one, 

I could fly from the past. 



STANZAS TO 



Ah ! proud and cold 's thy every look, 
And haughty is thy smile ; 

Yet honeyed words are on thy tongue, 
Placed there but to beguile 

My woman's weakness. But 'tis vain; 

This heart can never bend, 
Though once it had a foolish dream, 

With thine, proud one, to blend. 

But it has fled from out my heart. 

Ah ! fled into the past ! 
And visions, false as they were vain, 

No more my soul o'ercast. 
14 



160 STANZAS TO 



Thy syren voice no more can charm 

A heart so fond as mine ; 
Whose greatest grief is that it laid 

An offering on thy shrine — 

The offering of a guileless heart, 

Thy falsehood first awoke! 
By every word that love held dear, 

To me in kindness spoke, — 

By every word in fondness said, — 

By every flattering tone, 
With which you sought to lure my heart, 

And leave it then alone, — 

I tell thee, that I scorn thee now. 
Far more than words can speak ; 

Thou 'It read it in my flashing eye. 
And on my burning cheek. 

Thou 'It never know how long it took 

To break the fearful chain; 
But well thou knowest 'tis not for thee 

To bind this heart again. 



STANZAS TO 161 

Methinks it was a poor, mean boast, 

That thou hadst cast a spell 
Around a fond, weak girl, who " loved, 

Not wisely, but too well." 



AN APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA, 

IN BEHALP OE THE IRISH. 

WBITTEN DTTBING THE LATE FAMINE IN I B E I. A N D 

" The oats were blighted on the stalk, — 

The corn before its bloom, — 
And many a hand that held the plow 

Is pulseless in the tomb ! 
There is no playing in the streets — 

The haggard children move 
Like mournful phantoms, mute and slow, 

TJncheered by hope or love." — Mrs. Sigoubney. 

Oh! take the bauble from thy brow, — 
Yes, lift it from thy head, — 

And sell those costly gems of thine, 
And buy thy people bread ! 



APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA. 163 

What! does indignant shame light up 

That queenlike brow of thine ? 
And dost thou deem an insult lurks 

In every written line ? 

Oh, lady ! think thee of the tears 

Thy starving people shed, 
As their pale children gather round, 

And beg in vain for bread. - 

You gaze upon your princely band 

Of children in their pride, 
As, blest with every luxury, 

Before your throne they glide; 

And think you not that they too feel 

A deep, deep love for theirs. 
Although of penury and want 

They are the bitter heirs ? 

Yes, many an Irish mother, now, 

Beholds her starving child ! 
And gazes on its agony, 

Until her brain grows wild. 



164 APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA. 

And thou, a woman, and a queen. 
Say, canst thou hesitate 

To save thy people from their woe, 
Before it be too late? 

In aiding them, thou too mayst save 
Thy valued crown to thee; 

For even now the cry is heard, 
"Make way for liberty I" 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO A STRANGER WHOM I MET ON THE CAK8. 

BY BEQUEST. 

'Mid careless brows, and thoughtless ones, 
And some 't were full of care ; 

Some dark, as 'neath an Indian clime, 
Some lovely, young and fair; 

Some bound unto a happy home. 
With wife and children dear ; 

Others, deep bearing in their hearts, 
The record of despair ; 



166 TO A STRANGER. 

1 noted thee, amid the crowd — 
With them, but of them not ; 

Nor time nor distance can efface, 
Or from my memory blot. 

Thy sable robe, thy saddened brow, 
Thy sweet, though pensive, smile, — 

Manners of winning tenderness. 
That spoke thee free from guile. 

Genius, proud genius, sat enthroned 
Upon thy woman's brow ; 

I have thy picture in my mind, — 
I 'm gazing on it now. 

There is a sympathy of soul, 
That draws us to our kind ; 

'T is not in words, or looks, or deeds, 
'Tis mind, embracing mind. 

A deeper sympathy is ours ; 

For sorrow's saddening sway 
Has swept across our pathways both, 

With many a chilling ray. 



TO A STRANGER. 167 

Yet still a tie to thee remains; 

A daughter young and fair, 
Nestles, as with an angel's wing. 

And stays thy passage here. 

But lonely is the stranger's heart, — 

And lonely must she be, 
Uncheered by all, save friendship's smiles 

And these she asks of thee I 



15 



TO A COQUETTE. 



" Oh, why did you weave this wild spell round my heart f 
Why give me those hopes that so soon must depart ? 
Did you think, that like others, ray spirit could houd, 
And be in a moment a lover or friend ?" 



I WITH the rest have bowed to thee, 

With all a lover's pride, 
Have gazed upon that lovely brow, 

And worshiped by thy side ; 

I never told thee half my love, 
My tongue could not reveal 

The deep, wild passion of my heart, — 
Such as thou ne'er couldst feel. 



TO A COQUETTE. 169 

Cold-hearted girl ! thou 'It never know 
How deep this heart was wrung, — 

Or how thy dark ingratitude 
My trusting spirit stung. 



LINES 

ON THE DEATH OP MRS. E. BROWN. 

Ladt, when first I looked on thee, 

I little thought so soon 
That I, amid a weeping train, 

Should follow to thy tomb. 
Far from the home that gave thee birth ,- 

Friends that would bid thee stay, — - 
Surrounded by a stranger band. 

Thy spirit passed away. 

Though strangers stood around thy bier, 

Full many a tear was shed, 
That one so young, and lovely too. 

Must sleep among the dead. 



ONTHE DEATH OF MRS. E. BROWN. 17 J 

And he, the husband of thy heart, 

O'er thy low death-couch bent. 
While sorrow, far too deep for words, 

His anguished spirit rent. 

But ah ! ye cannot call her back, — 

Dear friends ! your tears are vain ; 
Her eyes are closed, nor will they ope 

To earth's vain things again. 
But though on earth she lives no more, 

In heaven she liveth ever. 
And ye, if faithful, soon shall meet. 

Where naught fond friends can sever. 



AN INVOCATION. 



** Thou hast all too much unrest, 

Haunted by vain hopes and fears ; 
Though thy cheek with smiles be drest, 
Yet that cheek is wet with tears." — L. E. L. 



Bind me not, O gentle spirit ! 

With thy silken cords so soft; 
All thy charms are but illusions, 

For thou hast deceived so oft! 

Once I bowed with adoration 
At a fair and gentle shrine, — 

Loved with wild impassioned fondness, 
Dreaming not of shame or crime. 



AN INVOCATION. 173 

But the blissM trance soon ended, ' 

Soon I from my dream awoke, 
Like the strong man bound in fetters, 

Bending 'neath a heavy yoke. 

Time passed on, and hope's sweet visions 
Clustered once more round my home. 

Tempting me to scenes of gladness, 
Bidding me from grief to roam. 

Now, exulting in my freedom, 

Like a bird of fearless wing, 
I can carol in my gladness, 

Songs before I could not sing. 

Then bind me not, O gentle spirit ! 

In thy silken chains so sweet, — 
They may do for happier spirits, 

But for mine they 're all unmeet. 



AWAKE, AWAKE, MY GENTLE MUSE. 

Awake, awake, my gentle Muse ! 

Awake, awake and sing; 
The purest tributes of thy verse, 

I call on thee to bring. 
I ask not gems, nor jewels rare, 

Nor diamonds flashing bright: 
A purer, holier gift be mine — 

The mind's calm, steadfast light. 

O Lord, I seek to have each thought 

Supremely stayed on Thee ; 
Surely Thou canst the gift impart. 

And make my spirit free — 
Free from the vain alluring things. 

That bow the spirit down : 
Strange! that such trifles please the sight, 

Heir of a glorious crown I 



WITHERED VI0LET8. 



" Violets I deep-blue violet3 ! 
April's loveliest coronets 1 
There are no flowers grow in the vale, 
Kissed by the dew, waved by the galo — 
None by the dew of the twilight wet, 
So Bweet as the deep-blue violet." — L. E. L. 



Oh, give me back those faded flowersj 

For dearly do I prize 
Those little violets, which look up 

With blue and starry eyes. 
Oh, give them back, nor deem me weak, 

That I should ask of thee 
The flowers which I so long have kept — 

His last, last gift to me. 



176 WITHERED VIOLETS. 

We stood beside a silvery stream, 

The waters running clear, 
My heart all full of bitter grief, 

And in mine eye a tear. 
'T was then he culled those lovely flowers, 

So fragile yet so sweet, 
And bade me keep them for his sake 

Till we again should meet. 

In mirrored beauty, still that stream 

Goes sweetly murmuring on. 
Yet all those flowers have faded quite, 

Ah, perished one by one ; 
And still the giver lingers still 

Upon the stormy main. 
While I sit by our silent hearth, 

And wish him back again. 



He said that I must happy be, 

When he was far away; 
But who can cheer my lonely heart, 

Or bid the tear-drops stay ? 



WITHEEKD VIOLETS. 1?T 

None, none! — until he comes again 
From off the stormy sea, 
With treasured sadness, I will keep 
His last, last gift to me. 



RELIGION. 

Religion! pure and heavenly guest, 
Possessed of thee, I feel I 'm blest I 
Though every other hope depart, 
Still may I clasp thee to my heart. 

When sickness, sorrow, pain, or dread, 
Had gathered thickly o'er my head. 
Ye bade the waves of sorrow cease. 
And pointed to the paths of peace. 

When hopes that o'er my spirit threw 
A radiant light, like evening dew. 
Had faded from the earth away, 
Swift as a meteor's passing ray, — 



RELIGION. 179 

One angel form still lingered near, 
"With joy my wounded heart to cheer, — 
One angel friend in mercy came, — 
Religion was her heavenly name. 

Then never, never, may I stray 
From this dear, safe, and pleasant way I 
But e'en in death its Author bless, 
And sink to sleep in happiness! 



[My mother and step-mo tlier sleep side by side in the village 
clmrcli-yard of my native home.] 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

Sister ! this is a hallowed spot : 

Here lowly bend with me, 
Above their graves, where side by side 

They sleep so peacefully. 

Memorials of departed worth 

It has been mine to bring, 
And lay upon a shrine of tears — 

A poet's offering. 



HALLOWED GROUND. 181 

But now, a holier task is mine; 

A daughter's heart would pay 
This grateful tribute, while she weaves 

A short and simple lay. 

I was too young to know my loss, 

"When my own mother died ; 
But well I learned to prize the worth 

Of this one by her side. 

Sister ! do you remember, dear, 

The last sad hour we kept 
Our nightly vigils round her bed, 

And watched while others slept ? 

Yes, — though to distant lands you go, 

To many a distant spot, — 
I know the memory of that hour 

"Will never be forgot. 

But as the ancients would embalm 
Their friends, when life has fled, 

So we will bear within our hearts 
The memory of the dead. 



A WISH. 

If I should ask a gift for thee— 

'Twonld be a guileless heart, 
All full of tender sympathy, 

And free from every art. 

And then I'd ask another heart 

With thine to fondly blend, 
That thou mightst hold in converse sweet, 

And be to thee a friend. 



STANZAS. 



" But ties around tMs heart were spun, 
That could not, would not, he undone.** 



Oh! it is but a little while 
Since thou and I first met, 

And yet thy image on my soul 
Is deeply, firmly set. 

'Tis but a little while since thou 
Wert all unknown to me, 

And now thou art the guiding star 
That rules my destiny. 
16 



184 STANZAS. 

I knew it — felt it — ere I stood 
One moment by thy side ; 

And with rebuking sternness sought 
The feeling back to chide. 

But vain — it gathered o'er my heart, 
Like waters o'er the deep ; 

A feeling in my soul was roused 
That would not, could not, sleep. 

I stood amid the young, the proud. 
The gallant and the gay, 

With not a thought for those around, 
And not a word to say. 

I looked in those dark eyes of thine, 
With strange and timid fear, 

And turned away with pallid cheek 
And scarcely hidden tear ; 

For, though thy voice was ever kind 
As friendship's voice could be, • 

Others had shared those gentle tones, 
Breathed not alone for me. 



STANZAS. 185 

I think of thee at early morn, 

And dream of thee at night, — 
A day-star set within my soul, 

For ever pure and bright. 

All other hopes may fade away, — 

Life's earliest dreams depart, — 
But thou are graved on memory, 

Enshrined within my heart. 



TO MY LITTLE NIECE. 

Thou art sporting amid the flowers, sweet child, 

And a lovely flower art thou ; 
The rose is budding upon thy cheek, 

And the lily upon thy brow. 

Thine eyes are as dark as the bright gazelle's. 

But of just as soft a hue 
As the violet when it folds its leaves, 

'Neath the starlight and the dew. 

Thou art sporting on, in thy guilelessness, 

That free and joyous thing — 
A happy child, ere the cares of earth 

A shade o'er thy brow can fling. 



TO MY LITTLE NIECE. 187 

Long, long mayst thou be a child at heart, 

As gladsome and as free 
As now thou art, my little niece. 

In the days of thy childhood's glee ! 



APOSTROPHE TO MY HUSBAND. 

Sleep on, mine own beloved one, 

In thy far distant tomb ! 
Though sorrow shadows o'er each heart 

That mourns thine early doom. 

Slep on — I would not call thee back 

To the cold cares of life ; 
Sleep on, unmindful of the tears 

Of her thou once called wife. 

Sleep on — I would not have thee know 

The fate of one so loved, 
'T would grieve thy proud and generous heart, 

Though in the realms above. 



APOSTROPHE TO MY HUSBAND. 189 

Sleep on, sleep on — I try to check 

Each murmur of the heart ; 
But yet 't was hard, mine own beloved, 

'Twas hard from thee to part. 

'Twas hard to bid a long adieu 

To one we loved so well, — 
Ah, hard to say that bitter word. 

That bitter word, " farewell I" 

The anguish of that parting hour 

Is on my spirit now ; 
It sends deep sorrow to my heart, 

A shadow to my brow. 

And yet I would not call thee back 

To the cold cares of life, — ■ 
Sleep on, unmindful of the tears 

Of her thou once called wife. 



i:;: ♦ 



lOVE. 

O LOVE I how beautiful thou art ! 

How pure and bright a gem, 
Enshrined in woman's trusting heart, 

A peerless diadem. 

Then choose, my friend, one generous heart, 

Congenial to thine own, — 
Forsake all others for her sake, — 

Make there thine altar-throne. 

Let other forms be young and fair, — 

Let other eyes be bright, — 
Turn thou to thine own chosen one, 

With fond and pure delight. 



LOVE. 191 

Friendship, with love, would weave for thee 

A garland rich and rare, 
And in a heart of prayerfulness 

Would fondly breathe a prayer, 

That sorrow ne'er may cross thy path, 

Or make thy young heart sad ; 
May all thy hopes be joyousness. 

Thy spirit ever glad. 



17 



TO A FRIEND. 

I FEAR me thou hast prized too high 
This simple muse of mine, 

Yet proud, dear lady, will I be 
This humble wreath to twine. 

Poetic flowers are round me now, 
Fair as the buds of spring, 

With eager hand I 'd cull them all — 
For thee an ofiering. 

But, ah ! they 're mocking to my sight, 
I clasp them, and they're gone, — 

Of all that proud and rich array 
There now remains but one. 



T O A F R I E N D . 193 

One lovely, fair, and fragile flower, 

Still lingers in my sight, 
Filling my soul with purest joy, 

Shrouding the gloom of night, — 

'T is friendship : dear and sacred pledgQ ! 

I bind thee on my heart ; 
None other e'er shall know thy place, 

None other share a part. 

Thou hadst a fickle sister, once ; 

"Within my heart a throne 
Was made for her, — I fondly dreamed 

That she was all mine own. 

All eloquent, she lingered there 

But for a little while, 
Then to herself took wings and fled 

Unto a far-off isle. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 

Attend, gentle children, to you I will tell 
The story of one whom you knew and loved well ; 
'T is not long since his voice 'mid the gayest was heard, 
Warbling forth gentle strains like some sweet forest bird. 

But that soft voice is hushed, and that bright eye of blue 
Has closed on the things all so dark and untrue. 
On the waves of the world he will never be tossed, 
Then why should you weep for the loved and the lost? 

Then list, O ye parents! say, can you not hear 
The voice of your loved one, in strains soft and clear ? 
Even now he is singing his sweet lay of love, 
With the saints and the angels in triumph above. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 195 

'Tis thus, ever thus, earthly hopes must decay — 
The fah'est of flowers the first fade away, 
The friends we love best will the soonest depart, 
Though their memory is written with tears on our heart. 

I could weep when I think of those joys that are past, 
I could weep when I think that those joys could not last, 
But hope sends a vision that 's gentle and fair. 
And bids me look upward and cease to despair. 

It speaks of that radiant city above. 

Where friends dwell forever in concord and love ; 

No sickness, no sighing, no tears dim the eye, 

In our Father's blest mansions prepared up on high. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 

A QUIET, little, shaded spot. 

Far from the busy town, — 
I rise at morn, gay as the lark. 

In peace at night lay down. 
My children prattle by my side, 

Their father makes the hay. 
Oh ! who could be more blithe than us, 

More happy all the day ? 

I make my garden, tend my flowers, 

And watch the busy bee ; 
And sometimes rove amid the ^ woods 

"With footsteps light and free ; 



COUNTRY LIFE., 197 

And oft my cliildren weave tliemselves 

Bright garlands for their hair — 
I doubt if city dames e'er find 

Aught in their shops so fair ! 
The children of content are we, 

Oh ! could the proud ones know 
What peaceful joys belong to those 

Who nature only know! 



I LOYED HIM. 

I LOVED Lira, but I would not own 

The deep, fond love I felt, — 
Though sorrow dwelt upon his brow, 

When by my side he knelt. 

I loved him, but I deeply vowed 

I would not wed again ; 
And though his fond words touched my heart, 

They touched it all in vain. 

He brought me flowers, the fairest flowers, 

To twine amid my hair ; 
He said those flowers would well become 
The brow of one so fair. 



I LOVED HIM. 199 

But oh ! I spurned the gentle gift, 

And bade him turn aside, 
And seek a fairer, happier one 

To be his chosen bride. 

For I could only give to him 

A sad and sorrowing heart; , 

And when he -d ask for smiles from me 

Tears w^ould unbidden start. 



THE LONELY GRAVE. 

There is a grave, a lonely grave, 

Deep in a woodland glade ; 
No friendly hand has placed it there, — 

By strangers was it made. 

And yet it is a lovely spot, — 

The wild flowers sweetly bloom, 
And shed abroad their fragrance rare. 

With beauty and perfume. 
And I am told, at evening hour, 

The village maidens come 
And cull those lovely woodland flowers, 

And deck the stranger's tomb. 



THE LONELY GRAVE. 201 

Gratitude ! thou hallowed guest ! 
Thrice welcome to my heart! 

1 hail thee as a precious gift, 
Nor from thee will I part 

Till I have poured my spirit forth, 

O maidens ! unto thee, 
In grateful strains for kindness shown 

To one so dear to me. 



LINES 

ON EECEIVING A NUMBER Of" THE EEPOSiTORY. 

Thou com'st to me, bright messenger, 
With many garlands, wrought 

Of all the fairest, purest things 
Of intellect and thought. 

Within thy modest pages, 

Thou truly dost inclose 
The lily's sweet humility, 

With the beauty of the rose. 

Thy prose is high and holy ; 

To thy verse it doth belong, 
In sweet and solemn cadence, 

To bear the soul in sonsc. 



THE REPOSITORY, 203 

Thine is a noble office, — 

To elevate the mind, 
And lift the drooping spirit. 

From the dross of earth refined. 

Then welcome ! ever welcome 

To my heart and to my home, 
With such a gentle monitor 

I surely can not roam 

From the paths of truth and virtue, 

Which thou dost sweetly blend ; 
Then come, and I will hail thee 

As an old familiar friend. 

And when my mind is sorrowful, 

With bitter thoughts oppressed, • 

I'll turn thy pages o'er, and read 
The '' Gatherings of the West." 



0:: 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Pale autumn flowers! I love yc well, 
Though a tale of sadness ye bring ; 

Yes, dearer to me are these autumn flowers 
Than the first fair buds of spring. 

I love ye ! for ye are the last 

That blooms 'neath a northern sky, — 

The last that adorns the grave of one, 
Who was early doomed to die. 



REMORSE. 

Away ! I will not hear of liope ! 

Oil, mock me not with bliss I 
Nor speak of future joys to me ! 

Such agony as this. 
Was born not for a single hour, 

To live but for a day ; 
For life, ah ! life is all too short 

Such penance sad to pay. 

Some sorrows bear upon the heart js^- 

But for a little while, 
Then pass away, like April showers 

Before the sun's glad smile. 



206 . K E M O K S L . 

But no such sorrow do I bear 
Within this wounded breast ; 

Heavy with grief, dim with despair. 
My spirit finds no rest. 

A lather's cui*se is on my soul — 

A mother's broken heart — 
A sister's cheek is flushed with shame, 

And tears of anguish start. 
Then tell me not of happiness, 

Until this weary head 
Shall lay its sorrow and its shame 

Beside the mouldering dead I 



HOME. 

Home ! dearest home ! I love thee well, 
I love thee more than words can tell ; 
There is no spot to me on earth 
So dear, as that which gave me birth ; 
There are no friends so dear to me, 
As those who tell me most of thee. 

Oh, could I leave my much loved home, 
O'er this unfriendly world to roam ? 
Say, could I bid a long adieu 
To friends so loved and honored too ? 
There are some things for which 1 'd dare 
To leave my own loved bower of prayer — 
Things which so fill my trusting heart, 
That tears, repentinj^ tears, will start. 
18 



208 HOME. 

Saviour ! dear Saviour ! for thy sake 
I would the ties of kindred break, — 
Gaze my last look on this loved shore, 
And part with friends, to meet no more 
Shall I assist to raise on high 
A standard, 'neath a burning sky ? 
Or 'mid the western forests rove, 
An outcast far from all I love ? 

Gladly, if I a soul might save ; — 
Though I should meet an early grave 
Where the rude Rocky Mountains rise 
In gloomy grandeur to the skies, 
And the Pacific's rock-bound shore 
Is washed with never ceasing roar; 
Where the untutored savage yell 
Is heard, but ne'er the Sabbath bell. 



EDITH TO MORTON. 



** Had he died, I would have lamented him ; had he proved false, I would 
have forgiven him : but a traitor to his country, I will tear him from my 
heart 1" — Old Mortality. 



If thou hadst died, I would have wept 
With sorrow o'er thy tomb, 

And sought the fairest flowers of earth, 
To shed their early bloom 

Around thy lowly resting-place ; 

I would have wept with tears, — 
And pain, and sorrow, grief, and care, 

Had made up all my yeai-s. 



210 EDITH TO MORTON. 

Nay, hadst thou e'en proved false to me, 
I would have loved thee on, 

And thought of all thy tenderness 
In days 't were past and gone. 

But recreant to thy dearest trust, 

A traitor to thy king ! — 
I shame me that an act of thine. 

Could tears of sorrow bring 

From out the heart that's deeply vowed 

Thy image to forget, 
Though every fiber of the soul 

Be strung with deep regret. 

Then seek not, traitor! dare not seek 

An interview with me ; 
Indignant shame would flush my cheek 

K I should look on thee ! 



I'M WITH YOU, DEAR SISTERS. 

I 'm with you, dear sisters ! 

I 'm with you once more ; 
Kind greetings await me, 

Fond friends at the door. 

All hasten to meet me, 

And welcome me home; 
Oh J why from such friends 

Should my footsteps e'er roam? 

I have not been long, dearest sisters, away. 
But sad was my heart, though brief was my stay; 
So kind and so gentle, so loving and "true, 
In joy and in sadness, I 'm ever with you. 



212 i'm with yow, dear sisters. 

But thou, dearest brother, the loved one of all, 
I fancy thy footsteps in parlor and hall, — 
Thy voice rings out gladly, and falls on mine ear; 
I know 't is but fancy, I feel thou 'rt not here. 



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